


Sexual Tension

by Gamebird



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Episode: s04e18 The Wall, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of unresolved sexual tension in the Wall, Sylar finally can't take it anymore. He creates a situation where he gives himself to Peter to do with as Peter wishes - torture, sex, death - doesn't matter. Sylar just wants resolution.</p><p>For chapters 1-11, this is a role play expansion between gamebird (writing for Peter) and means2bhuman (writing for Sylar).  For chapters 12-18, gamebird wrote solo for either Sylar or Peter's point of view, with means2bhuman providing invaluable beta work. </p><p>You can find more of means2bhuman's work here: http://means2bhuman.livejournal.com/tag/general%20masterlist<br/>And means2bhuman's journal is: http://means2bhuman.livejournal.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. World's Most Effed Up Gift

Sylar swung the door open and let Peter pass, promising, "You'll like it." Peter stopped walking a few steps in.

Inside was a rather bare room, with a mattress flipped on its side, leaned against the far wall. A blue tarp lay closer to the door, between four poles welded and screwed into the floor, concrete, stripped of any carpet or padding, swept clean. Into the ceiling, he'd located a stud and secured a hook to it, above the tarp, of course. Nearby was a solid metal chair with arms and several construction-type lights. The windows had blinds and air-raid curtains for completely blocking out light. On several long, metal tables were many objects, the assembly of which spoke of gruesome acts that Sylar clearly anticipated.

Lighters, matches, a small bottle of lemon extract, sandpaper. Scissors (those had been hard to add to the list). A few vices and splints, screwdrivers, pliers of assorted sizes, a hammer and a large wrench. Glue and cement and wax, a stapler and tweezers. A 2x4, a thick metal pipe and some various diameters of PVC, needles with some vials of mostly clear liquids for various injection purposes, curare included, light on the sterilization equipment, but there was some there. Medical gloves, some folded sheets and towels, a few stacked buckets and a pallet of water bottles. Chains, handcuffs, rope, wire, duct tape. Lube, lotion, condoms. Mouthwash, soap, a hose that connected to the bathroom's sink, complete with a nozzle attachment. A whip, a police baton, a Taser, a bat, a box of razors, a box cutter, the SS Kimber handgun. And on top sat a fully stocked, battery-operated nail-gun.

Sylar stood with his back to the open door, proudly yet nervously surveying the scene while Peter did so for the first time. "So…what do you think? I didn't really know what you…had in mind, but I tried to be thorough."

XXX

Peter was a lot of things – 'thoughtful' tended not to be among them.

But now that he was faced with this room, his mind was like a class full of over-sugared first graders, all yelling for the teacher's attention at once. Everything he looked at spawned a new thought that the rest of his mind wanted to explore just as much as the dozen other thoughts that had already come into being. He was rapidly overloading under the strain. He stood there and gaped, eyes big, expression stunned and dumbfounded.

A motion out of the corner of his eye allowed one of the louder thoughts to momentarily quell the rest.  _Is this a trap? Is this intended for me to do to him, or for him to do to me? Is 'you'll like it' honest, or is he twisted enough to think I'd enjoy being tortured? (Wouldn't.) Or twisted enough to think I'd enjoy torturing him? (Shouldn't.) Or was it just something he said to get me in here? (I need to get out of here.) Is he going to brain me and tie me to_ _that chair and turn that nail gun on me? (That would suck.)_

Peter turned. All Sylar had done was cock his head, probably trying to make sense of Peter's immobility and relative inexpressiveness. Peter gave him some expressions now. He glared, hands a little out to the sides, lightly balling into fists as he did his best to radiate anger and threat. Sylar stared for a moment, drawing up a bit straighter and starting to loosen his crossed arms in response. Then he blinked, glanced away uneasily, adopted a sullen, put-out look on his face, and stubbornly crossed his arms even more firmly, leaning against the doorway and looking away pointedly. Peter stared him down a little more, just to be sure.

_Okay, maybe not a trap._

He walked a few steps further in, still shooting Sylar suspicious glances, trying to deal with the competing suggestions his brain was giving him.

_Get out!_

_I shouldn't be in here._

_I shouldn't look interested in this._

_I could come back later and check this out when he's not around._

_I shouldn't **be**  interested in this._

_I'm **not**  interested in this._

_What the hell's that over there? Is that mouthwash? What the hell would I do with mouthwash during a torture session?_

_Maybe I could clean his mouth out after it got too full of blood to taste good._

He thought about what that would taste like – medicinal antiseptic over cloying, copper tang of blood.  _That's disgusting. I should leave._

_The mouthwash would sting in any cuts._

_I'm looking too interested. The very fact that I'm still here is wrong._

_He's next to the door. I'd have to walk out next to him. Don't want to get that close. What if it **is**  a trap?_

_What if the trap is that he gets me to do something I shouldn't?_

_I don't think that's enough rope. People always underestimate how much rope things take._

_How firm is that pole?_  He put his hand on it casually and tried to shake it.  _Seems stout enough. Yeah. Okay. I guess that would work. But for what?_

_Damn it! I shouldn't have touched anything! Now it looks like I'm interested!_

He glanced over at Sylar again, who was back to watching him. Peter didn't know what to do about that. He didn't know what to do about any of this. He felt helpless and ignorant and ill-informed and frustrated all of a sudden and as usual, Sylar was the cause of it. Childish, misplaced anger welled up in him and he strode over to Sylar, getting in his face without the least idea of what he was going to say until words started coming out of his mouth. "What the fuck is all of this? Some sort of sick joke? What the fuck do you expect to happen next?!"

Peter's voice was jumping in alarm and he was cursing – clear signs he was rattled. He sounded borderline hysterical to his own ears, so he stopped there, cutting short the rant he thought Sylar deserved but that Peter couldn't find the right words for, much less the tone.

XXX

In Sylar's face was an unstable mass of undecided energy packed into a small, delicious form - Peter Petrelli. The man was either about to cry or throw down World War III. Sylar was pretty sure it was the latter (he hoped it was the latter). The sudden tension in the room, the attention, the proximity was making him high...and horny. All he needed to do was make a smart-ass comment to make Peter flip the switch and lash out, then...well...

"You like toys. I thought it was obvious, Petrelli," he purred in a low voice, eyeing the nurse's face, salivating over it like it was his next meal, "You put me where you want me and do...whatever." One thing was absolutely sure to ensure Peter laying down the law (hopefully with his dick, or fists, maybe both). Extending a hand, Sylar reached out into the generous six inches of space between their bodies and laid a heated palm on Peter's crotch, giving the man's junk a squeeze. "I expect you to give it to me," he rasped, half-snarling to further goad his target while keeping his meaning ingeniously vague.

XXX

Goading was hardly necessary. Peter was already moving, backing up for two reasons – one, to get Sylar's hand off of him (it would hurt like hell if the man grabbed); and two, to get room to swing. What little was going through his mind other than tactical considerations were repeated mental reminders of how determined he needed to be here, for his own safety and survival. The stark terror that Sylar intended to chain him to those poles and have his way with him, then kill him (or worse, keep him alive) gave Peter all kinds of adrenaline. What Sylar had actually  _said_ was overridden by the fear, anger, outrage, embarrassment, and shame. All Peter knew was that Sylar had brought him to a torture room, made rude and upsetting insinuations, and then proceeded to molest him while acting so turned on that Peter was freaking out.

Peter was going to deal with the threat Sylar posed, get in charge, and stay in charge, if he had to fight like a mad dog to do it. His intentions weren't exactly hard to detect; Sylar was dodging back even as Peter's fist came forward as fast as he could propel it. To his surprise, and probably Sylar's, he actually managed to clip the man a little on that first swing. Sylar fought back, swinging wide and stumbling against the doorframe.

Sylar started to fall through the doorway, his flailing hand catching on the doorframe. Rather than go all the way to the floor, he ended up something of a crouch. Peter didn't wait for the man to recover, moving in and trying to pummel him into submission. Sylar managed to dodge and get his other hand up to run interference. Peter still grazed him on the temple and cheek, but Sylar wasn't going to just squat there while Peter practiced beating up on him. Instead, he threw himself forward, tackling Peter and taking them both to the ground.

Peter went down with another surge of near-hysteria as the back of his mind told him he was frightfully close to smashing into those bars as he fell. Unforgiving concrete combined with Sylar's weight and Peter's momentum to drive all the air out of his lungs in a noisy rush. For a moment, he thought he really had hit his head. The moment of stun left him helpless, but all Sylar did was get to his knees. Peter's mind was still stupidly fixated on the bar. He made a quick glance to the side, assuring him that he'd misjudged – the poles were a good two feet to his left.

XXX

Peter was distracted by something, it didn't matter what, provided it wasn't a weapon. But just to piss Petrelli off, maybe to turn him on, definitely to turn himself on, Sylar grabbed Peter by the legs, spreading them around his own hips. Sylar rubbed himself against Peter's ass and groin, quick and loud with their jeans grinding hard as he panted, watching in sickening amusement as Peter's attention turned back to him in rage, murderous deeds in mind.  _That's right...Fuck, that felt good..._

XXX

Peter curled upward, hooking his legs behind Sylar like the lover Sylar apparently wished he was, but it was fists he was coming up with, not a kiss. It was a difficult combat move that took a lot of abdominal strength and wasted a lot of energy, but Sylar's hands were full and as much as he expected an attack, he hadn't expected that. Peter smacked the man right in the nose, which got him dropped and shoved away. Sylar broke apart, scrambling. Both men hurried to get to their feet before the other. Sylar was first up, but a little slow on the attack. His nose was dripping blood and it took a moment for him to shake the sting from his eyes.

Peter glanced at the doorway, then around himself to orient. His back was to the tables, which sparked an idea. Maybe Sylar would take him seriously if he was armed. After all, there was nothing like a weapon to grant superiority in combat. He lunged for the nearest treasure trove, grabbing something at random because Sylar had seen his action and was rushing to stop it. Peter came up with a hammer, swinging it sideways so fast that it whistled through the air. It missed Sylar by a hair's breadth. The taller man's eyes widened and he jerked back. "Shit, Peter!"

XXX

 _Little prick has a hammer?! What the fuck's he thinking? None of this is for killing me!_  Or was it? Sylar supposed, when he had the time to spare, that his death was technically on the menu, same as his body. It wasn't like Peter would let him live beyond torture. Sylar's body would inevitable give out, maybe his mind would, too; Peter would lose interest, become bored of him and Peter couldn't have a liability like him alive. He'd be killed out of paranoia that Sylar would tattle - 'Peter Petrelli fucked me and he liked it. I was good enough to be used for that.' Besides, this was all just back-payment for Nathan's death and all the others. Punishment he'd long deserved.

Peter wasn't good at play-fighting - the kid went all out and so Sylar set about avoiding being bludgeoned to death by what was, oh-so-ironically, both a watchmaker's tool and an object usually paired with NAILS.

XXX

Snarling, Peter pressed his advantage as Sylar put everything he had into dodging. Peter felt absurdly gratified to have Sylar flee before him. It was enough to have him get a bit wild with his swings. When Sylar stumbled on the tarp between the four poles, Peter gave it everything he had only to misjudge Sylar's juking and clip one of the poles. The lance of jarring pain that shot up his right arm brought back the reality that the fight wasn't over until it was over. Seeing his chance, Sylar leaped at him, grabbing the hammer with one hand and punching Peter with the other. Peter stayed focused on the struggle over the weapon. Although his numbed right arm wasn't able to keep it out of Sylar's hands, he got hold of the middle of the handle with his left. He managed to twist it free from Sylar's grip, enduring a punch to the side of the head. Peter whacked the man in the mouth with his left fist whilst wrapped around the hammer handle. He was only jabbing from a distance of a foot at best, but the blows still drove Sylar back enough to give Peter much-needed space.

Peter swapped the hammer to his right and grabbed Sylar's shirt front with his left. Sylar's arms came up defensively and he sucked in breath, eyes wide as he scrambled madly to get his feet under him. The clear fear changed Peter's intention in a millisecond. It wasn't exactly the respect he'd been looking for, but it would do. Instead of finishing the asshole with the hammer, Peter pushed him backwards, threatening with the tool but not actually swinging it. The back of Sylar's knees hit the chair and down he went, hands instinctively grabbing at the arms of the chair. Peter shifted his grip on the hammer to sideways, like he'd done with his left hand, and smacked Sylar right between the eyes. Sylar's head lolled for a moment. Peter spun and went to the table, eyes scanning hurriedly, but even then it was taking him too long. He'd seen handcuffs here somewhere, but there was so much stuff …  _Ah! There!_ He grabbed them.

XXX

So this was it. He had no time to react or even watch his miserable life flash before his eyes (it didn't really do that in you're-about-to-die situations anyway). He expected a brief moment of pain followed by the usual blackness and peace - he'd wanted it for a long time; today Peter decided to give him his due, satisfy him, fulfill that wish. But no, it was just a debilitating blow (those hurt way more than death), aching so badly throughout his head until he was unable to think or move much beyond pained writhing. When his vision returned to something like normal, he saw Peter's back was turned. Logic caught up and informed him that Peter was looking for another weapon - this time to finalize things, surely. Well, he wasn't going to make it easy...Sylar rose, unbalanced, nearly falling at first, and did his best to creep up behind the frantic nurse, hands outstretched, reaching for that tempting mane...

XXX

Before Peter could turn around, Sylar had the back of his head and was ramming it down on the table, smashing it painfully into the side of the nail gun. A stack of towels went over and things clattered to the floor as Peter writhed, trying unsuccessfully to get away. Sylar's other hand was on Peter's right, once more trying to peel the hammer out of his grip. Failing that, Sylar lifted Peter's wrist and bashed hand and hammer into the table and whatever torture implements there were. More stuff fell in a chaotic racket, but Peter kept hold of the hammer.

For a few tense breaths, neither of them did anything else. The fight was exhausting; the adrenaline wearing thin, and right at that moment, neither of them were trying to kill the other. Blood from Sylar's nose dripped onto Peter's back with an irregular patter. Panting, Peter shifted his head slightly to relieve the gouge into his cheek made by some protruding bit of the nail gun.

XXX

Blood already racing, Sylar was delighted to notice the position they were in; Peter bent over the table before him - despite the rather life-and-death nature of the fight.  _Why can't he just play the fuck along?! He wants it, I know he does, and I'm offering! The hammer...is not...necessary!_ Once more to torment, he bucked his hips to slide his crotch against Peter's wonderful backside, moving so hard he lifted the shorter man's heels from the floor.  _Think of what it would feel like inside him...Yeah, Peter, think about how that would feel inside you, you little tramp..._

XXX

Peter yelled in inarticulate rage, trying to shake off Sylar's interference from his right hand (or at least distract him from Peter's other hand). With his left, he reached up and snapped one handcuff onto Sylar's wrist where he was holding Peter's neck. Sylar ignored the cuff and finally found the nerve point in Peter's right wrist, fingers jabbing into it mercilessly. His fingers betraying him, Peter finally let go of the weapon.

Sylar made a brief hoot of victory, short-lived as Peter put both hands into shoving himself up off the table, grabbing whatever happened to be under his now-empty right hand. He came around, trying to put his right elbow into Sylar's chest. Peter had hoped for a shot to the solar plexus. He missed, but it still bumped Sylar and gave Peter room. His right hand now had a splint. Peter threw it in Sylar's face, creating a distraction for a much better aimed blow at the center of the man's chest. Sylar batted the splint out of his face in time to be sent sprawling on his ass, coughing and trying to get his breath. All the damage he'd taken had worn Sylar down enough that he couldn't recover for precious long seconds.

Peter grabbed Sylar by the hair, dragging him the few feet to the chair. Sylar's hands flew up to Peter's wrist, trying to keep himself from being scalped and fighting to get his feet under him.

XXX

 _Oh, God..._ Was all Sylar could think, so many memories triggered by the simple action of fingers knotted in his hair, using it like some kind of behavioral handle to position him. He couldn't begin to lie - it got him hard. Even as he was being dragged around for torture. Even if no sex was involved (or maybe especially because none was involved...yet). He cried out, already panting. He gasped with helpless, spontaneous arousal as it mixed through his nerves with the pain and shock and inevitable danger. He struggled some while he was in motion across the floor. He hated it. He loved it.

The terror was a drug all its own and while Sylar still smelt sex in the air, he would remain deliciously on edge.  _Give me more._ He almost didn't give a thought to being maimed or dying.

XXX

Peter slammed the man into the chair and took the opportunity to attach that extra pair of cuffs to the other hand. Sylar held his arms up in front of him, a little dazed and panting as he looked at the cuffs – one on each wrist, but connected to nothing else. He looked up in time to get smashed in the temple by Peter's right fist. Fastening those cuffs to the arms of the chair was easy after that.

Peter wanted to stop, badly. He was breathing so hard the room was spinning. His gut, parts of his face and head, and his knuckles and wrists were killing him. But it wasn't over yet. Sylar was coming around again. Peter went to the tables again, rapidly canvasing for something that wasn't there. Desperate, he snatched up a towel and the spool of heavy gauge wire. Sylar was alert again and just as rapidly assessing his situation.

"Don't," Peter warned. Sylar ignored him, though, rising to his feet and gathering the awkward, heavy chair behind him, probably intending to rush him. Peter kicked him in the shin. Running around, fighting people with a chair on your back like in the movies was much easier when you had practice, cooperative foes, and an aluminum chair. Sylar went down cursing. Peter yanked the chair back upright, surprised and momentarily disturbed that Sylar helped with that.

He picked up the towel and wire, standing behind Sylar as he unfolded and refolded the towel into a long band. Sylar looked back at him, mouth open in rough pants, hair over his face, bruises littering his skin and blood dripping from nose and mouth. He was quite a sight. If Peter were into torture-porn, that would definitely be tripping his trigger. But he wasn't, so Peter flipped the towel over that face and snugged it up over Sylar's eyes, covering his face from mid-forehead to the top of his cheeks. He spooled off some of the wire, wrapping it as tight as his injured fingers allowed to secure the makeshift blindfold in place. He dropped the rest of the wire to the floor, letting it uncoil loosely around the spool.

Peter walked around the front of Sylar and leaned on one of the poles, looking at the man. And finally … catching his breath.  _I won. Ha_ , he thought with tired happiness.


	2. Wants

Sylar twisted his neck back and forth, blindly testing his limits. "Water boarding, huh? I didn't think that would be your first choice. Isn't torture used to get something that you want?"

"I 'want' you to shut up," Peter said with some semblance of calmness. It was easier to be calm when the primary source of tension was restrained. Peter reached up and touched carefully at the spot on his cheek where his face had been slammed into the side of the nail gun. The skin was broken, but it wasn't bleeding much. He flexed his fingers and massaged his wrist where Sylar had forced him to release the hammer. At the moment, he wasn't thinking much of anything, just pulling himself back together as the stress level wound down for him.

Peter sighed and tilted his head, looking Sylar over. He started to take a step closer, then thought better of it. He walked back to the tables, browsing.  _Ah, there's the rope._  He collected it, unraveled it, and walked over to Sylar. By the slight cock of the man's head, it was clear he was trying to make sense of the sounds. Peter knelt to Sylar's right side, measuring out the length he wanted. He looped it carefully around Sylar's leg, hanging on tight to the short end. As he'd expected, Sylar tried to kick, or at least jerk his leg away from the contact. Peter tugged the wayward leg back, provoking a hiss and more uneasy, uncooperative movement from Sylar. Sylar planted his foot firmly a couple inches from the chair leg, evidently thinking that was where he'd fight Peter over getting his leg flush to the chair.

That was fine. Peter tied it off where it was with a slip knot and moved around behind Sylar to crouch at his left. He pulled the rest of the rope through the legs of the chair as Sylar moved his right leg around, obviously trying to figure out what the point was of tying his leg so loosely. It gave Peter the moment to double an arm's length of rope back on itself and swing that around Sylar's remaining leg. After a few moments of unproductive fighting, Peter stood, moved around in front of Sylar, and stomped squarely on the front half of his foot the next time it strayed to approximately where Peter wanted it. Sylar grunted in pain and yanked at his trapped foot, but Peter still tied off his knot.

XXX

What was both horrible and wonderful; indecision. Wanting to be restrained and bound yet terrified of what that might bring instead. Peter had all the advantage, but that didn't stop Sylar from testing and provoking when he wasn't putting on a show. It wouldn't do to look too happy at his predicament (and he wasn't completely sure he was happy with it anyway).  _This is what you want, isn't it? This is what you've been working for. Well, now you've got it. Don't screw it up._

Peter got one leg successfully tied off. The thrill of knowing his free leg was next, that he'd be armed only with teeth and words (so long as his mouth went free), otherwise totally helpless was intoxicating and scary. He couldn't tell where Peter was - he wasn't hitting him with his legs. Sylar played keep-away with his free leg, literally in the dark with the blindfold - what was that for anyway? It was kinky, regardless, a very dirty move for a very dirty boy. Next his foot was crushed under Peter's boot, although it wasn't hard enough to break bones, he was grateful for that. Still, he made efforts to get it free (partly wanting it to be roped to the chair, as it was now). He wanted to know what he was working with.

XXX

Enraged, Sylar struggled in his bonds. There was a lot of play in them – all of them – yet none of them gave. Peter watched carefully, assessing. He thought back over the blows Sylar had received in the fight, his reaction time, and his behavior at the moment. There was no doubt the man was hurting, but Peter didn't think he had more than a mild concussion. Tough, Sylar had in spades and Peter knew he had to watch out for that. At the moment, though, he was glad of it but he wanted a closer look. Sylar's nose had finally stopped bleeding, yet there was blood all down the man's front, on his lips, chin, and down his throat. Another trip to the table saw Peter searching again. "You have any benzocaine here?" he asked casually as he examined vials and bottles.

Sylar was silent for a long moment before offering, "Novocain."

"Yeah, I see that," Peter responded, bemused. He walked back with an opened packet of gauze in hand. "That's injective. Not what I want." It came as a topical application, but all Sylar had was the liquid. Everything else Peter had looked at on the table would inflict pain, not stop it. He was sure the Novocain was there only as a numbing agent, not for the sort of uses Peter would put it to.

Sylar snorted. "Sorry, Peter. I thought that's what you wanted."

"Hm." Peter put his hand on Sylar's shoulder, letting the man know where he was. Sylar inhaled and held his breath, stiffening slightly. Peter eyed him for a moment, trying to judge how difficult Sylar was going to be. He leaned in. "I'm not sure you have any idea what I want. Now hold still. I'm going to clean your face. Don't bite me."

XXX

The taste and feel of blood was heavy in his nose and mouth; Sylar imagined it was elsewhere on his face either as a spray or drip pattern.  _He wants me to look clean? Or he doesn't want to taste my blood?_ His nose, lips, teeth, jaw, cheeks, forehead and sternum all ached from different impacts. He worked at getting his breathing under control. Any minute now his ability to breathe might be taken away and a very twisted part of himself was eager for that to happen. Even more perverse was his desire for it to be, strange as it sounded, Peter's cock that choked him.  _I don't know how he'll get at anything else if I'm stuck to this chair..._

The anticipation only fed his fear and his lust; he had no idea what would happen or what he'd say...what he was willing to say or do to get what he wanted and give what Peter so clearly wanted. He felt his body chanting with his heart rate as it pumped energized blood through him ' _Here I am! I'm here! Take me! Use me! I'm ready! Give it to me!'_ He was needy and horny, keyed up and tired, cooling down and sweaty. He wanted to spread his legs and shove his groin at Peter, to finalize the deal, make his purpose known (like it wasn't already).

Peter began swiping away at his face; Sylar sat still through the process.  _Whatever he wants. I'll bite if you ask me nicely._ "Won't it just get dirty again? My face?" The question seemed obvious.

XXX

"Maybe," Peter answered honestly. "I hope not. I don't like to see blood on people." He wiped off everything that was still wet, but Sylar was still a mess. Peter went back for a towel and wetted it with the hose from the bathroom, returning to give Sylar a proper cleaning. Sylar was still restless, pent up, and excited in more ways than one. Peter could see the bulge in the man's groin. This was intense – what was going on – but Peter had been in a lot of intense situations and sexual arousal tended to be one of the last things on his mind. His brain just didn't work that way. Apparently Sylar's did. Peter gave a long, steady exhale as he finished wiping off the blood. His brain might not get aroused by fighting, but it  _did_  get aroused by other people being aroused, especially if he thought they were aroused by  _him_. And Sylar had certainly brought him here because of … well …  _him_. His hand on Sylar's shoulder squeezed slightly and released, rubbing a little without Peter even thinking about it.

"Am I all prettied up now?" Sylar asked when Peter stopped, having worked his way down throat and over cheeks, getting everything but the marks themselves off.

"Yeah," Peter answered, patting Sylar's shoulder intentionally, because he could and because he could get away with it. His thoughts were turning more and more to 'what he could get away with'. "Much more attractive like this," he added, and although the words were flirty, his tone was flat. "Stay put," he added more curtly, leaving the room entirely.

XXX

If he could have, Sylar would have rolled his eyes. But it hurt and he wore a blindfold - someone was obviously shy about being watched.  _Is he going to jerk off or something that he needs privacy or is it a control thing?_  He found it difficult to concentrate, time spacing oddly with tension, fear, anticipation, the loss of Peter's presence (given the footsteps), and, of course, his erection.  _Good thing I included bleach and the hose then, if he likes me clean. Strange. I thought he'd enjoy making me filthy._ His hearing sharpened with the loss of sight, awaiting whatever came next, after all, it could be anything from a tool, a toy to a blow or laceration, a deathblow even. That was half the fun and half the fear. Peter took his time, forcing him to wait it out - like he had a choice.

XXX

A quick search turned up what Peter wanted – a chair. This one was a simple, wooden, ladder back chair. He set it down a foot or so from the nearest pole, plopping himself down a few feet from Sylar.

"Settling in for the long haul, are we?" Sylar asked. The noises answered the question of what Peter had gone in search for.

"Yeah," Peter said, tone clipped. He leaned forward, settling elbows onto knees. "You didn't hit me much."

"I didn't think you liked it that way. But if I was wrong, you could let me go and I could take care of that for you."

Peter snorted slightly and smiled, his expression much more true and relaxed given that it was unseen. "No, thanks. You were right – that doesn't do it for me." He scratched at his chin. "What's your goal here?"

"Don't play dumb, Peter. You know what we're here for. I know you want this; I saw it every time we were alone when there were people in the world, and even after that. You can have it now."

"Have … you?"  _Sex? He means sex, right? How does he know I'm not going to hurt him? Well, given that I already_ _ **have**_ _hurt him, like, worse?_

Sylar didn't bother to reply. He tilted his head to one side, in an exaggerated 'really?' gesture.

Peter exhaled noisily and glanced over at the tables. "What's with all the torture equipment then?"  _That wasn't for me if I happened to lose?_

"It's hard to play without toys. You're already," he rattled his handcuffs against the metal chair, "finding them useful."

"Yeah, that's true." Peter relaxed a bit, reaching out his foot to nudge Sylar in the ankle – again, just because he could. It was a rude liberty to be taking, or so Peter thought of his own action. He was taking advantage and it wasn't really right, but it was hard for him to fault himself too strongly given that all he was doing was giving a small touch. Sylar shifted his foot away and then immediately back. Peter hadn't pulled back, so he was bumped in return. Peter nudged him again. Sylar raised his heel, rocking his leg up and down against the pressure. Peter brought his foot away. Sylar's shuffled to the extent it could given the loose tie, failing to find him in that small area. Sylar huffed. Peter smiled slyly, pleased by the frustration.

Peter was both worried and amused by the degree of power Sylar had put in his hands. He was amused because Sylar had clearly missed a few check-boxes on putting this scene together, one of which was making sure one's partner consented to the whole thing. He was worried because he wasn't sure where this was going. Peter was still a bit frightened and angry. He saw no reason to let Sylar out of his time-out until Peter was good and ready to let him out. He was getting a little (or not so little) thrill out of keeping the man there, minimizing the threat Sylar posed, and creating a space for Peter to relax and let down a few guards.

"Sylar, you're tied up in a chair and blindfolded. You seem to think I'm going to 'give it to you'? What motivation do I have to play along with your fantasy here?"

XXX

That touch...so slight, but it meant that Peter was gaining more understanding, taking more control as well he should.  _Hmm, yeah..._ Sylar ignored his usual frustration at Peter's own, enforced and unsubstantiated roadblocks to the process in favor of what was happening now. He breathed just a little bit faster. He would hear if Peter stood, so he otherwise waited in a fairly relaxed quiet moment. Sylar's eyebrows went up slightly. "My fantasy?"  _Who said it was mine, silly Peter? It might be...It might not be..._ Yet it secretly was, oh, yes it was. How much of a sick fuck was he that he wanted to please and be teased with promise in return? It was dark and dirty and filthy and delicious.

"I'm not the one who handcuffed me to a chair, Peter," he pointed out. Sylar slumped with a seductive wriggle, his legs inching open, hips making an oh-so-brief thrust upwards as he displayed his throat enough that he hoped it was tempting.  _Take someone's clothes off already!_ Again, he purred, "Who needs motivation anyway. I know you're horny, Peter." He didn't add about his own needs at the moment, knowing from past experience that the hint would have the opposite effect than desired. He wondered if he was overplaying his hand, but he'd been pushed to his limits, well past them actually. Action, of any kind, that's all he wanted. "Just...let it all out; that's all you have to do."

XXX

"Yeah, all  _ **I**_  have to do. Sounds like I have all the work while you get all the fun. This is  _your_  fantasy, not mine. There's a whole table over there of things to prove it." Peter spoke dismissively, as if insulted by the proposal. He was quiet for a moment, considering his tone and how needy Sylar had to be to take things this far. It was really dangerous, as Sylar's current situation proved. Peter moved his foot back over to touch Sylar's ankle. This time he left it there. In a gentler tone, soft and seductive, he said, "I like the handcuffs, though. And the rope." He rubbed up and down very slowly with the point of his foot, reveling in the ability to keep Sylar where he wanted to, to neutralize the guy's threat, and to make him … well, accessible.

XXX

 _What?! I've been trying to service_   **you**   _all this time and got nothing! This is_   **so**   _your fantasy - every time we're in the same room, he's beating me up and getting high off it. There is no_ **way**   _this isn't appealing to him. Never mind that he's too stuck up to admit it._ Sylar kept his mouth shut, though, because he was attempting to appease the angry kink god that resided in Peter's body. He stewed on it all the same, unhappy with being criticized for supposedly not doing something that he had, in fact, already tried. He was not the one being difficult here; Peter was. His lips twitched once over a response that he repressed, but otherwise he waited. What more could he do? Sylar was along for the-  _He likes something?_  His stomach flipped and partially melted at hearing those words voiced that way. He exhaled and hummed lowly in deep appreciation.  _Then I like them, too. Please do something with me...?_  He bumped his leg rhythmically against Peter's available foot as much as possible, hinting.

XXX

Peter's eyes crawled over Sylar's form, admiring and lusting. No one could see him, so why not? He was a good looking man … whom Peter hardly knew. "You know, it's not very smart to get yourself into something like this without finding out if your partner is on board with it. You've made a lot of assumptions about me. I think some of them are wrong." He shifted forward, pulling back his foot and almost immediately replacing the contact by scooting his chair closer and touching his fingertips – just three fingertips – to the back of Sylar's right hand. "What kind of lover are you if you don't even bother to find out what your partner likes?"

XXX

Sylar's head cocked swiftly.  _Did he just call me 'lover'? Or even 'a lover'? Meaning I might be...Oh man...What does that mean?_  Whatever it was, it sounded fantastic and leagues better than anything Sylar had envisioned or even hoped for. Better than 'that asshole I'm fucking' definitely.  _Can I even...do that? I've never had one, never been one...Can't feel love, does that matter to him? If not, I can probably pull it off..._ Sylar felt the disappearance of Peter's foot, withholding his whine, but it was replaced with something much sweeter - a soft touch of Peter's...hand, yes, hand to the back of his own. He twitched his hand ever-so slightly to indicate his acceptance and interest, otherwise holding still so as not to spook the man off. He hummed once more, more of a rumbling purr.  _Yes, come closer. Touch me..._

To the annoying denial:  _I think my assumptions are dead-on, think whatever you want and lie about it, Peter. You just don't want to admit I'm right. That's okay. I'll let you play pretend_. Sylar matched Peter's volume and tone when he responded, "One who knows how much you like rope and handcuffs." He lightly jangled the chains connecting his left hand to the chair.  _Did I just call myself his lover?_  Surely it was not that simple.

XXX

 _Point. But I just told you that. You have a lot of misses over there on that table._  He liked the noises Sylar was making. He liked the posture. He liked that Sylar wasn't fighting or arguing or demanding any more strongly than he was, although something opposite of a demand would probably stroke Peter's ego a lot more. His fingertips ghosted up to those mentioned handcuffs, slipping between cuff and skin, then quickly ringing part of Sylar's wrist. Oh yeah, he really liked the idea of Sylar … controlled. It was an illusion, he knew, but an illusion he liked.

XXX

Sylar inhaled at that innocently suggestive touch - against his skin...under the cuff. It was so subtle and soft; it was really driving him up the wall. He'd never had anything like that. He bit back his moan of approval and invitation, fearing it was inappropriate, that it would distract Peter or worse, cause the man to instigate torture instead of more lovely touching. Was Peter inviting him to ask about his preferences now? Before Sylar had been certain asking would make him look...inexperienced, lost, and have the effect of insulting and driving his companion away. Talking was one of the last things the person fucking him wanted. "Tell me what else you like, Peter," his voice dripped with promise.  _Maybe take the blindfold off while you do it? I want to see this; you._


	3. Needs

Sylar inhaled at that innocently suggestive touch - against his skin...under the cuff. It was so subtle and soft; it was really driving him up the wall. He'd never had anything like that. He bit back his moan of approval and invitation, fearing it was inappropriate, that it would distract Peter or worse, cause the man to instigate torture instead of more lovely touching. Was Peter inviting him to ask about his preferences now? Before Sylar had been certain asking would make him look...inexperienced, lost, and have the effect of insulting and driving his companion away. Talking was one of the last things the person fucking him wanted. "Tell me what else you like, Peter," his voice dripped with promise.  _Maybe take the blindfold off while you do it? I want to see this; you._

XXX

Oh, that voice! And more than that, the  _question_. Peter's hand expressed his feelings with ridiculous clarity – he clasped Sylar's hand over the top, squeezed it, stroked the back of it, slid around to meet palm to palm like a handshake, another squeeze with one finger after another in quick succession and then a squeeze all over. He was still holding Sylar's hand when he was done, having laughed while he did it. The laugh was a little goofy, completely uncalculated and unselfconscious. It was a spontaneous laugh of being thrilled and pleased.

The idea of  _his_  preferences taking center stage was so appealing. He liked pleasing others – make no mistake about that – but while making  _Sylar_  happy was not on his list of things to do, the idea of flipping that and being served  _by_  Sylar sped Peter's breathing and made him fidget with eagerness. He put his foot back next to Sylar's, his knee rubbing unevenly and nervously.

XXX

Sylar was nearly panting now, for different reasons than stress and fear. His hand was being palmed and molested - he couldn't see Peter to be sure if it was intended as any kind of foreplay or not, hell if it mattered! His cock continued to fill up and he flushed warm all over. He wanted that touch and those hands all over him...preferably while he was naked. He knew the dangers of these fantasies (yes, these were legitimate and now somewhat encouraged); he was likely to be very disappointed. Sylar consoled himself with the knowledge that he'd at least...had his hand held. Nicely. Peter seemed almost nervous - was it nerves?  _I'm the one tied up, why would he be nervous?_ The laughter was a little scary.  _I hope he's just blowing off steam and that isn't a preview for...painful things._  It didn't sound like a sadistic laugh, but he couldn't be sure, blind and horny as he was.

XXX

"I like …" Peter's statement was interrupted by a thought about how quickly he was letting himself be seduced here. Some caution was called for. This was a killer he was talking to – Nathan's killer. Peter had no plan. There was a nail gun over there on the table and a lot of scary, scary things in the room. Peter felt a moment of helpless, confused worry. What the hell was he supposed to do? Hate on the guy for  _years_? Forever? And yeah, he didn't like Sylar and he  _did_  hate him, but the constant expression of that was destroying his soul. This tiny glimpse of letting Sylar do something to please him? Was that wrong? He conveniently avoided thinking of what lengths he might go to or where the cutoff was between 'okay' and 'too far'.

Instead, Peter looked down at the hand he was holding so enthusiastically, realizing his own hand had done the equivalent of the happy puppy dance on Sylar's a few moments before. He thought he ought to be embarrassed about that. But he just felt happy, flushed, heart beating faster, leg moving against Sylar's in an anxious, irregular tapping.  _Is this wrong?_ He really didn't want to be wrong. He didn't want  _this_  to be wrong. It felt good and it had been a long time since Peter had felt even a brush of how good this was. So Sylar was the instrument. Why did that matter?

XXX

 _Don't stop_ , Sylar pleaded quietly, even in the confines of his own head, though it echoed and rebounded in his skull anyway. Somehow this scene was working and Peter was at least, finally! looking at the option of using him. It was going way better than he (still) dared to hope. He'd longed to ask, longed to hear what Peter had to say here. He knew he couldn't go back to the fists-and-denial routine Peter had been using until now. He did his very best to appear interested and open, listening with all his might. Harmless, as a look, if he could pull it off, would only help now, too. He wanted Peter's knee much closer than it was, uneven rhythm or not. Again his cock, pressed firmly against him would be fantastic (and unlikely).

XXX

Peter squeezed Sylar's hand again, releasing and drawing back, fingers tickling over Sylar's palm. "I like touching. I like-" Doubt closed his throat again, making him sound … he didn't know – so ashamed he couldn't get the words out? Or so excited? He took a deep breath, lightly taking Sylar's hand again, wrapping his left over the top of it. "I like kissing. I like fucking … and frotting."  _Why the hell am I telling this guy this shit? Am I going to get in trouble later because of this?_  Peter tried to imagine future scenarios where Sylar mocked him with what he was saying, using the words against him. What Peter was confessing to seemed so bland though that he couldn't imagine any taunt would have teeth. Of course, his libido had every incentive at the moment to make his current activities seem harmless.

XXX

Sylar's control slipped and his lips parted as he listened to things that were far too good to be true. He'd swallow the lie right now if it was all a lie. His exhale was tinged with vocalization of need, louder than he wished it to be.  _I'm going to explode. Oh my God..._ His chest rose and fell deeper, his left hand clenching into a fist to prevent a full out struggle for freedom so he could act on what he'd heard. Peter Petrelli had given him a (admittedly short) list of turn-ons, things to do, instructions and they were so, so hot. So mild and basic and desirable. Sylar knew he'd have no problem whatever in providing and fulfilling those needs because they matched his own truest, deeper needs - the same ones he'd never dared to see the light of day. Was this even possible? He didn't care, he wanted to try it all and try it now.  _I don't know what frotting is, but if it's anything like the rest of that stuff...hell, even if it isn't, I'll do it. Just let me try._

Peter continued, needlessly, so Sylar clamped his mouth shut, with effort, on further comments.

XXX

"I don't like being hurt." Peter looked over at the tables of stuff, finding it much easier to imagine Sylar using those things against him. His leg stilled and his hands drew back a half inch or so. "Really … I don't like pain. I can take it, but if … if I think you're  _trying_  to hurt me, it's all over." That was … much more complicated than the few words Peter was putting to it. He wasn't averse to bottoming to a sadist or taking masochistic enjoyment from a variety of things, but all of those required a certainty in Peter's mind that his top's end goal was evoking pleasure. If he thought someone was getting off on hurting him rather than getting off on him getting off on being hurt, then … well, it was over. That person was an enemy – wrong – bad – dangerous -  _mean_. It seemed simpler to put some hard and clear limits up front. He could be nuanced later. That his mind didn't even linger on the idea that he was already making plans for 'later' was a sign of how lust-addled his thinking had become.

"That's why I like you tied up like this. You can't …"  _get to me_. "I'm safe. I need to feel safe." Peter slid his hand back into a full handshake, fingertips splaying to touch the handcuff and jostle it a little. He sighed wistfully. "What's going to happen after I let you out of this chair? Later? How is it going to change things between us if I … 'let it all out' or whatever and hurt you? Or, if I," Peter's fingertips danced along the soft, tender flesh on the inside of Sylar's wrist, "do something else?"  _Like … something not painful at all?_

XXX

Sylar's mind didn't exactly stumble... _He thinks I'm going to hurt him? Wh- I know why, but...That's ridiculous! Doesn't he get how this works? No...obviously not. He doesn't understand the rules._ In a way, he skipped over that concern. _If what he said happens, I don't fucking care about it._  Funny that with Sylar in position to be hurt and in a lot of pain, Peter was the one stipulating his unwillingness to be in that position. It was a double-standard and one Sylar was sadly well-familiar with. He expected it from Peter and Petrellis.

"You're perfectly safe, Peter. I can't...do anything."  _Anything at all_ , he helpfully supplied himself, again, jingling the chains of the handcuffs for emphasis.  _I'm helpless and harmless; you can see that._ He made it sound like a promise, one he intended to keep. Given Peter's kinks, Sylar would be 'getting some', too, so hurting the empath would be just plain stupid (not that he'd planned to really hurt the guy anyway because Sylar, unlike Peter, knew the rules). His desire to hurt Peter at all would diminish, but not disappear entirely, if the pleasant kinks were an option. He'd be getting something closer towards 'real', something vastly more important than delivering pain. The only worry Peter need have was Sylar wanting sex (and touching and attention) too much, too often if that was the case.

There was no way he'd get a shot at being an active participant, something like a worthy bedmate, deserving and capable of feeling pleasure. That was an upgrade Sylar hadn't anticipated.  _Like...a real person? Why would he treat me like someone he likes? He doesn't have to at all. I know he doesn't like me._  He'd been picturing something along the lines of any of their other encounters - yeah, torture was included heavily in that package deal; it always was. That was all he had to go on, really. Sylar was all-too aware that he deserved no better than being brained with a blunt object, drugged and lashed down, tortured and used to his opponent's content. So long as Peter was kept happy, that was all that mattered. Sylar would be serving his sentence. All would be right with the world. Why ever would his pleasure factor into it? It wasn't a requirement Sylar got to quibble over. He'd be lucky to get any kind of action and this was not a negotiation.

 _Lover? I can do that. I want a chance to try._ He splayed his wrist for Peter's fingers to play with; God, that felt so good, just being touched.

He was drawn into listening again by Peter's continued dialogue ( _Would he shut up and get on with it already?_ ) Now he was confused. "What do you mean? Nothing happens." Peter mentioning 'let it all out/hurt you' made his stomach lurch unpleasantly at the reminder, the threat, the prospect that this was too good to be true; of course it was. To have something wonderful like kissing and touching dangled before him only to have it snatched away on a whim...Peter was just teasing.  _Oh. That's...clever of him_. That stung worse than Sylar would admit. His arousal was somewhat dampened.

"I'm only going to do something after if you don't  _ **do**_  anything right now," Sylar allowed his desperation to leak into the threat, voice wavering and rough like his throat was tight. "I wouldn't-...I know the rules. I know how this goes."  _Okay? I've done this before. Everyone agrees; I can't touch you. I'm the monster, remember? You'd be doing the right thing and self-defense is for good people._ "Shut up and do something already." His brain wiggled something into his perception, one of those things Peter said he wanted that Sylar could provide, "You're in control and I'm on board with this," he admitted, using Peter's specific phrasing (specifying consent seemed weird to him) to keep his own desires concealed. He prayed that would tip Peter's scales.

XXX

Two threats plus two confusing ambiguities minus one ego stroke minus one positive statement. The math was not in Sylar's favor. Not that Peter was that calculating about it. With him it was more an issue of which way the scales tilted and two to one was a definite slant that he didn't like. He pulled in a long, steady breath; withdrawing his hand from Sylar's and pushing his chair back noisily as he got to his feet. "You want me to  _do something_ , huh? Didn't like what we  _were_  doing?" His voice was low and threatening, preferring to carry this off with bluster rather than bludgeoning.

XXX

Sylar let out something of a (nervous) chuckle, "Which, beating me up or petting my hand? You'll have to be more speci-" but then his voice and breath choked off.

XXX

Peter put one foot directly between Sylar's, his knee against the seat of the chair and brushing the inside of one of Sylar's thighs. He leaned in, putting one hand on the corner of the back of Sylar's chair and capturing the man's chin with the other. His fingers dug in enough to hurt a little, especially with the blows to the face Sylar had taken earlier. "Fine. I'm in control, huh?" Just how much did 'I'm on board with this' mean? Did it mean the sort of free rein Peter thought Sylar was trying to convey? "I want to hear you say that again." Peter let go of Sylar's chin, his hand dropping to the arm of the chair. Otherwise, he stayed where he was, but pushed back on the chair back and lifted on the arm, testing to see how easy it was to shift the center of balance and rock it back on two legs.

XXX

Sylar's first thought was ' _Oh!'_  at the leg against his thigh then ' _Ah!'_  as Peter gripped his chin like he was an unruly child...or about have his lights knocked out. He couldn't see, hadn't been expecting it so his cringe was pure instinct, one he couldn't very well prevent. That move made him look frightened and startled, things he'd rather not telegraph, but Peter's grab and Sylar's flinch, brief though it was, happened so fast there was no other reaction to be made. He grunted displeasure, though, partly because he enjoyed it, and yeah, the threat of being held in place, blind, while offering sex (and torture) while being pounded to a pulp was scary and interesting. The man's grip hurt - but it was a kind of good hurt. He was being put in his place and Sylar hoped that place involved something sexual as his adrenaline pumped and his body yearned from action.

But Peter wasn't finished. The intimidation tactics were so much more effective since Sylar couldn't see. No wonder the Company had literally kept him caged in the dark - it caused psychological disturbance. Sylar felt his center of gravity shift backwards and he swallowed the yelp he wanted to make, but just barely. He had not been expecting that. Attached to the chair was he was, he was going wherever the chair did - if Peter pushed, Sylar would fall back. Sylar clamped his hands to the armrests and sent his legs flailing all of a few inches because they were trapped to, finding no balance except what Peter provided. He felt only the chair and in a way, that was desensitizing. He couldn't really tell how far he was from the floor without the gift of sight, his sense of being connected to the face of the planet was gone when his feet couldn't touch it. He felt gravity just fine, though.

Sylar growled, genuinely not happy with that this time. Peter was using biological reactions against him (clever, admittedly), but they were tricks Sylar's body couldn't circumvent. Forcing himself to breath through his nose when he  _wasn't_  dropped to the floor - Peter must be holding him up ( _He's holding me up? That must be taking some muscle..._ Apparently, his mind was treacherous). When he said nothing, Peter dipped him back again and that answered the question of 'how far will Peter take this?' sufficiently enough for Sylar to answer. "You're in control."  _Clearly, asshole._ Sylar's voice was low and purposeful, a little pointed. He wasn't admitting defeat or submission...nor was he challenging outright.

XXX

"Good." Peter stopped messing with the chair and straightened, backing away. "I'm in control," he snapped, unconsciously mimicking his father's tone. "Are you going to do what I tell you to do?"

XXX

That tone sounded somewhat familiar, but it sounded like a good thing.  _He's enjoying this, big time._ That only made Sylar that much more excited. That and he got to feel the ground underneath his feet again - that had been a bit helpless there for a minute (not that he was less helpless when he could feel the ground, but it was something basic and tangible and he wouldn't argue with that). He breathed better in relief. He couldn't tell if that was his cue to entice or not, so he settled for a combination. " _Yes_ , Peter," he hissed, biting out the agreement, inviting with his tone when using the man's name. He wondered what the fuck he'd just signed himself up for there.

XXX

Peter stood next to one of the poles, one hand on it with the other at his side. He was about four feet from Sylar – not far – and facing him. "Okay. Then tell me what the rules are."

XXX

Time out. Peter wanted to spend his time talking about  _that_?  _But I don't wanna talk about that._..Sylar mentally whined and squirmed. Peter was going to make him say aloud what he should already know? What really got to him was that Peter seemed to just now be getting the picture, and, given Sylar's gratuitous hinting, that was just ridiculous and a bit insulting.  _Not my fucking fault I have to slow-walk him there._  Speaking aloud 'I'm worthless and I deserve to die' was not on Sylar's list of things to ever say. He didn't want Peter to ever know that. It went against all of Sylar's aggressive, superior performing and that put him already in an interesting position.

Peter couldn't see his eyes, that was a small blessing now. Sylar licked his lips, swallowing, literally working himself up to this. He had to say it; he'd been caught. If he didn't, Peter would leave and that would be it - Sylar's word would be useless in future. People only pay attention to what you say. "You can do whatever you want. I'm not supposed to retaliate," was his simplified statement. 'Supposed' was a little loose, but Sylar couldn't, in good conscience, promise to hold to it. Historically he'd lasted over twenty-five years with Virginia before snapping too badly so it was almost a non-issue. 'You deserve it' was such insurmountable logic to overcome after all. He was offering up his greatest weakness on a plate...to get sex.  _You've really hit a new low._  Peter could, and would, abuse that as much as the day was long until Sylar's brittle psyche snapped like a tinder twig. But to dig himself out of the worthless hole he'd gotten himself into, he blurted, "I know what happens if I do."

XXX

 _'Supposed'? Those are the rules?_  Peter's head was cocked to the side in interest, consternation, and curiosity.  _I do what I want and you … what? You sure as hell don't cooperate, so what does that mean?_ "What happens if you retaliate?" He couldn't  **not**  ask.

"You won't … play with me."

 _Play? Like this is all a game? Do these rules only apply to now and later is different? Or, like, later is normal?_  Peter took two slow steps back to Sylar (he was so tempting!), then detoured to the left to circle him warily instead of stopping right in front. What Sylar had said was all kinds of interesting and one of those kinds was tightening Peter's pants.

_You're on board._

_I'm in control._

_You'll do what I tell you._

_There's no retaliation._

_Nothing happens later._

He'd made a little more than one complete circuit now, saying nothing the whole time, trying to make sense of the buzzing in his mind. He put out his hand, touching the point of Sylar's left shoulder. He dragged his fingers across the top of left shoulder, over the bare back of neck (such warm and delicious skin), and then across the top of right shoulder. He paused there, fingertips only touching at the point of Sylar's right shoulder, keeping contact. Because he could. Because it was allowed. Because, fuck!, it was being invited. Not that Sylar hadn't made the invitation clear in the past, but ...

 _Is this for real? He's … he could be tricking me, right? Why the fuck would he trick me by letting me tie him up? It's bait._ _ **He's**_ _the bait._  Peter looked around the room, swallowing. He dropped his hand and walked over to the six foot long 2x4 leaned against the wall. He picked it up, then set it back down. He walked behind the tables, looking, touching things now – smooth wood of a baseball bat, flimsy blue medical gloves, the chill clink of chain. He righted a fallen bottle of lube next to a box of condoms. He looked over at Sylar, brows furrowed.

 _So what's the trap?_  He thudded one finger against the box of condoms a couple times.  _'Play with me', 'do something already'. That's the trap – fuck him. Or get him off. Apparently that doesn't have to involve sex. What am I getting myself into? Am I going to do this?_  Peter moved on to shift the stapler and scissors, then stepped around the cases of water bottles and stacked buckets. He walked back over to Sylar, hesitating in front of him for a long moment before reaching back for his chair. He couldn't just walk out. He couldn't release Sylar and walk out. He  _ **should**_. He knew that. But he couldn't, couldn't bring himself to do it - not with this much temptation and invitation and offering and promises that Peter mostly believed that it wouldn't go too far and he wasn't going to fuck everything up and …

Peter pulled his chair close, sitting directly in front of Sylar, and touched the man on the top of each knee – one hand to each. He waited a beat, then slid the hand to the inside of the knee, the beginning of the thigh, and stroked softly before giving the smallest nudge outward. He meant it as a request, not a demand, but he didn't know how Sylar would take it. He watched Sylar's posture, breathing, and response.  _Spread for me?_


	4. Getting On Board

Sylar couldn't help tilting his head away, for more, when Peter touched his neck. It left him shivering in the aftermath when Peter pulled away.  _Okay, I could maybe get used to this blindfold thing._ Everything was heightened and he felt like his clothes were restricting (they were - his cock) and too heavy, too much against his skin that already felt like one raw nerve in the slightly chilly air. It was fantastic. Anticipation was never something he'd gotten before during sex and this was possibly, literally, the best foreplay he'd ever had. Suddenly he could see the appeal, the use it held. Always in the past, he'd been the one forced to turn his partner on just to get any action - he got off on inflicting pleasure, sure, but he'd never really understood it fundamentally, not like this. This was so... _mild_. He wanted more touch and far less clothing. Sylar's imagination was going wild in the dark, hoping he'd end up with a lap full of naked Peter Petrelli. Hell, it'd be hot even if Sylar was kept clothed.

The ringing, woody thud of the 2x4 was obvious and unnerving. Again, his reactions were made primal and uncontrollable because he couldn't see - really he had a much better poker face than this, nerves of steel (with a short-fuse temper). He stiffened and not in a pleasant way.  _Right. He was...just teasing. He'd just fucking with you. He didn't mean that; how could he?_ Sylar set himself up for torture and disappointment once more.  _It'll still be fun. Why would he want to fuck you anyway? He thinks you're sick and dirty._  In the more evil sector of his mind, he couldn't help but applaud Peter for his cleverness at combining soft touch with (so far) the threat of torture and pain. It was ridiculously effective because it struck at Sylar's mind - always the most vulnerable spot he possessed.

Peter returned to the chair, drawing closer still. After he'd been playing with the toys it wasn't the best sign possible – he could have a number of objects nearby. When Sylar felt both hands, he was relieved a little. A twitch of motion towards the insides of his knees… _Is that…? Oh…oh, God, yeah, it is,_  he thought, correctly interpreting the rather obvious signal, with something like panicked moan in his head. Spread his legs for teasing and pleasure or opening himself to vulnerability so Peter could torture his privates. The idea of being emasculated didn't thrill him but the one about spreading his legs because Peter might have something naughty planned…A fifty-fifty shot, pure temptation and threat on either side. He took a breath, held it…and parted his legs while holding back a cringe.

XXX

Peter scooted forward in his chair so that his knees bumped the front of Sylar's seat. His hands stayed in contact with Sylar's legs. Fingers splayed over the top of the thighs, while his thumbs rubbed slow circles on the inside. They made a steady, but very gradual progression up, towards Sylar's groin. They were both still clothed, fully, and Peter had no idea how much trouble he was going to get into for doing this. He was almost certain Sylar would not later characterize this as taking advantage or violating him. This was … play. Sex play. More rough, serious, and intense than anything Peter had ever done, but it was still consensual and mutual (in Peter's eyes at least) regardless of Sylar's state of restraint.

XXX

Nothing happened – Sylar released the breath he'd been holding. The quiet persevered. The only noise was their rapid breathing and the slight sound of Peter's hands rubbing his jeans (almost his skin!). The empath kept up the contact, lightly stroking over him, soothing him; his intentions becoming clearer as time passed. Sylar felt like his panting was filling up the room, his heart beating so fast that Peter could hear it. Sylar couldn't help wonder why Peter didn't, well, pounce. The lack of speed was surely counter productive to Peter's goals - after all, why touch Sylar like this? What on Earth did Peter get out of it? Slow and steady and soft had never once entered his mind as a possible theme for their sex...assuming this was sex. That wasn't to say Sylar was complaining (well, not much: the blindfold, handcuffs, lack of a game plan and ability to participate annoyed him a bit); this was just all very, very new.  _Maybe...he wants something. Is he too shy to say something he wants? Is he afraid I'll judge him? Afraid I'll say no or something? He's probably leading up to something, trying to butter me up._ That made sense. This wasn't for Sylar's benefit. Because the only people to touch him anything like this had wanted something from him and it usually wasn't the sex itself.

XXX

In a soft voice that was almost a murmur, Peter said, "I feel like we should be having a conversation about something really important about now. But … I have to confess, my thinking's not too clear at the moment." He was breathing harder, watching his hands make that inexorable trip up Sylar's long legs, towards the join of them. Sylar's physical response was undeniable. Peter's head was hanging. Tension bound up his form. He wanted what was on offer so bad that his hands shook just a little.

XXX

Sylar released a nervous chuckle that was half-relieved, grinning a bit on reflex. He had to agree. With Peter touching him like this, his own mind was warm and fuzzy and quiet. It was addictive.  _He can't think? He's that turned on? Fuck, that's hot._  How that was possible, he didn't know. Sometimes Peter acted like Sylar was lip-lickingly tempting...but most of the time Sylar appeared to have all the appeal of an incurable boil on Peter's person. That said, he'd done next to nothing towards actively arousing the Petrelli, yet here the man was, stroking up his thighs like Sylar was some sort of treat, long denied. Sylar's toes were flexing in his shoes from the time-consuming touches, legs spread embarrassingly wide, his cock throbbing eagerly as he panted harder than he wanted to admit. It was all he could do not to bite his lip, make some noises and hurry Peter the hell up even though he sort of didn't want this to end. Maybe bucking his hips would...No. Peter was right, the little things _ **were**_  'doing something'. He also knew where he wanted those wandering hands...Peter couldn't see, but Sylar's eyes and brows were furrowed in forehead-sweating concentration, pleading...or maybe that was bliss? Was Peter shaking? Just from this? If that was true then this was sex, it was going somewhere and it was going somewhere oh-so-fucking good.

XXX

 _Is this betraying Nathan? Is just letting this fucker live betraying Nathan? Am I betraying Nathan every day that passes here that I talk to this guy and eat lunch with him and go exploring and talk to him about song lyrics? Am I betraying him by being polite? Or nice? Or … with what I'm doing right now?_ Panting lightly, Peter stopped with his fingers touching the bunched fabric where thigh met hip. His thumbs were a bare inch or two from the end. He let his weight settle for a moment, feeling the heat from this more intimate part of Sylar's body. Peter smiled wanly, knowing his hesitation had to be delicious and frustrating at the same time – it certainly was to him, building tension to an unbearable degree.  _Should I touch him? Is that the test? The line to cross? Can I go back afterwards? He says I can. But so what if I can? That doesn't really change it._

After a moment of cessation, his fingers bunched and probed against the folds of denim. He couldn't not continue. The effort of will it would take to stop seemed beyond him. "I'm not going to hurt you. At least," Peter amended, "I don't  _intend_  to hurt you."

XXX

Thighs wonderfully tensing and relaxing now, Sylar let his head drop back a few inches as his fists clenched - anything to avoid fucking his pelvis at the air and jerking his wrists raw against the handcuffs. "Uuh..." was his first, official sound; he hoped there would be more, something of a moaned grunt signaling his need. He also hoped making that noise hadn't...fouled things up. Peter probably wasn't doing this to fulfill any need of Sylar's. Peter was feeling up a rather ticklish spot - the join of his hips and legs, although it was more about the fabric than the flesh underneath. Sexual frustration seemed like such a mild term now... _He could just as easily be groping my cock! I have been working for this and waiting for you to make a move for so fucking long!_ Every move of the man's fingers sent tingles and ripples of reciprocal sensation to other parts of his body, not limited to his penis and that was beyond glorious - it was like he could feel Peter's fingers everywhere he needed or wanted them and the man was only touching the folds of his pants.  _Peter Petrelli, you fucking_ **minx** _...!_

At that point he would have agreed to nearly anything. He didn't believe Peter, not one bit, but the words did sink in (probably to be inspected and analyzed to death at a later date). Sylar merely nodded, his head spinning, neck loose (he had blood busily rushing other places). "Okay," he breathed, breathy and breathless, had no air to do more than that. But the main, burning question he had to voice, aware that he might be overstepping and ruining whatever fantasy Peter had going on. He wanted to know and didn't at the same time. Voice somewhat slurred, he nearly-whispered back, "What are you gonna do?"  _To me?_

XXX

 _Oh, that tone of voice!_  It was so helpless and open and raw. Peter had heard it before, at another time when he was totally in control of the situation, Sylar spread-eagled under him, the smell of blood and sweat in the air. Last time he'd wanted to destroy Sylar. This time? This time Peter wanted to destroy himself – drown in the erotic and forget everything else that ever had or ever might happen, everything but this moment, the sensations, and the feelings flowing through him.

His hands rose to Sylar's, fingers trailing along the backs of his hands, tickling across sparse, dark hairs, and then over his clothed forearms. Peter slid both of his hands under Sylar's arms, gripping the armrests to support his next move. A dim awareness ran through his mind that a determined Sylar could smash his fingers between elbow and metal. But Sylar didn't seem disposed to that. Peter felt safe enough for what they were doing. Besides, he wasn't supposed to 'retaliate', whatever that meant. Peter stood, leaning forward close enough to Sylar's face to feel his breath, close enough that Sylar could feel his own.

Still whispering, voice deepened by lust, Peter said, "I'm going to chain you up between two of those poles and have my way with you." He leaned in, letting his lips brush Sylar's cheek right under the blindfold, reveling in Sylar's sharp intake of breath at the contact. "And you're going to let me."

XXX

Sylar felt Peter's hands moving up his arms - physics, not his eyes, telling him that Peter was getting closer to do so. The empath's hands ended up in a funny place, Sylar frowned unseen behind the towel, but he wasn't given much time to consider that. He felt Peter's breath. On his face.  _He's really close_ , was all he could think, his own cognition apparently shutting down as much as Peter's. Sylar's head raised slightly, seeking out the man's face as if he wanted to look him in the eyes. He was clueless as to Peter's purpose in being  _that_  close.  _Sure, he said kissing, but he was just pulling my leg, right?_  Peter told him what he had planned, though; he told him! The answer had him shivering as if he were suddenly cold, but he was oh-so-warm because a flush of heat followed right after the shudder. His cock was going to point due north if Peter teased him much longer - it was currently pressed hard against his pants. While he hadn't jumped at feeling Peter's breath, he inhaled when he felt something human and soft against his cheek.  _Wh-...Was that...?_ Sylar would have nodded again, but he didn't want to accidentally head-butt the guy he presumed was actually freaking  _ **kissing**_ him. That was definitely 'something'.  _Is he going to do that all day?_  It took willpower, serious willpower not to squirm at the very idea, at that kiss, at the idea of more.

XXX

Peter brushed again, this time lips on lips but only the faintest touch before Peter pulled away, pushing himself upright. He yearned to do more and told himself that he would, just … soon. First he had to get things set up. He took up the end of the rope and gave it a hard jerk. The first slip knot came free and the second one loosened. Another pull released both. He snaked it out and reached down to rub the back of his hand against the back of Sylar's, one last touch before turning away.

XXX

 _Oh, fucking Jesus..._ Those were indeed Peter's lips. And that was almost an official kiss. Finally. Thank goodness. Sylar wanted so much more than that; he wanted to taste; he wanted the illusion of Peter being desirous for himself.  _He's just teasing. He just told you what he's going to do._ Sylar swallowed, shifting his weight, trying to shift his dick around to a more comfortable position (yeah right). Nowhere on that list or in the rules did it say anything about being comfortable or...interested.  _You're here to please him; that's all._ Sylar knew he was going to start shaking soon, tension and sex running through him, all the light touches, getting stronger, growing quicker.

XXX

Peter picked up his chair and moved it under the hook in the ceiling, tarp crinkling underfoot. He looped the rope over the hook and pulled it down, getting a good length on either side. He took it around two of the poles, then stepped back on the chair to tie the rope off up high and as tight as he could pull it (another slip-knot, they were so useful for quick release). It made a triangle of the rope, with the point being the hook, the legs extending to the poles, and the base stretching between them about six or seven feet off the ground, just a little lower than Peter could reach. He stepped down, batting the trailing ends of the rope out of the way as he went to fetch the keys to the handcuffs.

Peter returned to Sylar, circling him slowly, trailing his hand over arm and then shoulder. He wanted to rush, but this was no time for it. Impatience and restless energy coiled in his gut. One other thing needed to be taken care of. He stopped behind the man, pulling the utility knife from his pocket and choosing the clippers. He cut the dangling wire and adjusted the blindfold, tightening and securing it more firmly after returning the knife to his pocket. That done, he leaned over Sylar's shoulder, lips touching along the hair over the man's ear, and then the exposed top of his forehead. He was finding it harder and harder to resist getting all over the guy.

"Mmm," he hummed, hands stroking down over Sylar's shoulders and the front of his chest. Peter's groin was pressed to the back of the chair. He rubbed back and forth a couple times. "You are a lovely man," Peter purred, giving small kisses to the skin he could find, inhaling the scent from Sylar's hair. It was heady and satisfying. All the tension had the man hot and smelling like it. Peter loved that proof that he was wanted.

XXX

It had been a lifetime since a man had pawed over him. This time was different; beatings aside, Peter was being remarkably gentle and interested. Hell, this time made him want to participate. Sylar didn't know if that was their situation, being alone as they were, or their history (with or without any Petrellis' involvement), or if this was Peter-specific.  _Is he like this with everyone? I don't care,_  he dismissed. It wasn't important. For a moment he thought he'd be rid of the blindfold, but no. Peter was attaching it better. Almost a shame. He did want to see the guy naked, though. Sylar tilted his head away, biting his lip when the empath came to mouth over him, making lusty noises in his ear and that was more than fantastic.  _I'm lovely?_  That was a little surprising. "Uuh..." he exhaled another groan-type sound at having his upper body caressed.  _Pe-ter..._ he wanted to beg, but didn't, not yet.

XXX

Peter circled again, moving to unlock the handcuffs from the chair and trying to school himself to patience. In a more normal, but still low voice, Peter said, "I'm going to need you to stand up. I'll lead you over to where I want you. Then you'll lift your arms and let me hook you up." Peter caressed one of Sylar's palms after releasing him, adding huskily, "You know what happens if you don't play by the rules." Peter tugged upwards on the handcuff he held. "Come on."

XXX

Sylar stood slowly as directed after hearing the click of handcuffs, wary of losing his balance when upright. Not that he thought Peter would trip him or anything - he didn't think that. Still, he kept his feet connected to the floor as he walked, taking that first hesitant step to see if his legs were truly free. He didn't appreciate being led like a dog or a lamb to slaughter. Peter was slightly patronizing him in reminding him of the rules he knew by heart already. His spikes of anger didn't filter through, although transport was a very vulnerable time for both men and should Sylar have wished to act, now was the ideal moment.

 _He's going to string me up?_ Sylar, for the life of him, couldn't determine how that position would be much better - surely having Sylar lie down, spread eagled like a starfish on the floor would be best? Getting his clothes off and having access to...everything, yes, standing was good for that. It made less sense than he'd like, but he said nothing and followed Peter onto the tarp (this time very wary of tripping, although Peter led him carefully).

"Stop here," Peter commanded and Sylar did. Obediently. He was a little disgusted with himself at that.

His hands were raised partly with Peter's own power, but Sylar assisted until he heard the relocking of the cuffs to the poles. He now stood as a giant 'Y' shape. Briefly, gently, he tested the give the pole had - first towards himself, then forward and back, then up and down. There was some slack in a horizontal direction, quite a bit if he really tried at it, hearing the light metallic screech of cuffs against the pole, but he didn't. He knew how that would look - like he wanted out or away or was unhappy with his treatment or placement.  _Well, it wasn't like I was expecting a four-course candlelit dinner and rose petals._

He hurt worse standing, the blood circulation was stronger, his cock hung heavier in his jeans and every flush of arousal seemed to zing past his bruises and lacerations, but it was all a good pain for now. He knew he'd tire quickly of the position; it was either hold his arms up, try to grasp the cuffs, poles or rope or hang his wrists by the cuffs. He stood still, aside from one stretch of shoulders and back from being cramped and slammed around, and listened for whatever Peter did or commanded next, presuming of course the guy wouldn't leave him hanging in more ways than one.

XXX

Peter waited for a moment, watching Sylar's minor explorations of his new position.  _He cooperated! He did what I asked. Of course, he wants to get fucked … but still._ Wanting to recapture lost momentum, Peter stepped close, in front of Sylar for now. He rested his right hand on the man's left side, just under the ribs, reveling in Sylar's responsive shift, almost a squirm. Oh yes, Peter liked this position. It put Sylar  _completely_  at his disposal, though he knew it also limited how much time he had to play before it became too stressful to be any fun – for Sylar, at least, and that mattered to Peter. He slid his hand up, over ribs and the outer edge of pit and up triceps to elbow. He tickled across the joint and started back down as Peter's left hand found the same starting place just above the waist on Sylar's right side.

Peter eyed the blindfold, still glad of the illusion of privacy even though he wouldn't mind seeing an appreciative expression to encourage him. He was getting more sure that no look would cross Sylar's face that would put Peter off, but he left the blindfold there anyway. It was another indication of Peter's control of things, Sylar specifically. His right hand left Sylar's shoulder to cross to his jaw, gently following it down to his chin. His other hand came up Sylar's ribs, but then detoured over his chest, feeling the bump of nipple as he passed. One hand was on Sylar's chin now, cupping it with thumb and forefinger, the other was at the opening of his shirt, over the center of his collarbone. "Are you still on board with this?" Peter asked huskily.

XXX

Sylar allowed his head to loll wherever Peter wanted it to go. "Uhmm..." he said in response to Peter's wandering hand. He startled in reaction to having his surprisingly hard nipple brushed.  _Huh. Those are hard._  Then again, maybe it was less of a shock given how damn turned on he was right now. Peter still sounded very into it and the sound in his voice was sending ripples of lust through Sylar.  _Thank God I'm tied in place_ , he thought, even as he wished to be free to reciprocate and molest every inch of Peter. The little slut was asking for it anyway. The only thing Peter had to worry about was being jumped in a dark alley so Sylar could return the favor. Sylar gave a deep chuckle, high on hormones and Peter, murmuring an enthusiastic, "Absolutely."  _Fuck yes, I'm on board. All the way, give it to me! Why did I not do this sooner?_


	5. All Hands On Dick

Peter wiggled open the top button, leaning forward and tilting his head, pushing up Sylar's chin so Peter could plant his lips on the hollow of the man's neck in a single, light, wet kiss. Sylar made a small noise and arched his back, literally shoving himself at Peter. It earned him another kiss on the top of the chest, and then a third on the chest hair a few inches lower, as Peter opened two more buttons.

He paused, breathing fast, looking up at the man. Peter had every intention of getting quite a bit more intimate here … and he wanted something first, something that for Peter was just about mandatory for sex of any stripe – even with Sylar. Licking his lips, Peter's hands freed themselves from the task of unbuttoning Sylar's shirt and came up to hold either side of his face. He pulled him forward with light pressure as Peter lifted slightly on his toes, tilting his head. A few inches away, he murmured, "Here, easy," more to sooth his own nerves than Sylar's, because this was more a betrayal of his brother's memory than giving Sylar a fucking blow job. For Peter, this sealed their interaction as friendly, affectionate, and it obliterated any deniability Peter might have wanted to keep about what he was doing here.

Lips pressed in softly – Peter moved slow because he was very aware he'd punched the guy in the mouth at least once. He didn't want this to hurt. He let Sylar set the pressure on the kiss – their first solid, actual kiss. He opened his mouth slightly for it, but didn't offer to deepen it with his tongue. None of that was necessary for what he was conveying, to himself if not to Sylar – this was someone he was making love to, and he would kiss their lips and share himself with them. His stomach clenched and his breath caught as his lips moved tenderly over Sylar's.

XXX

Sylar was so needy and hard, wrapping his legs around Peter sounded better and better.  _At least I could get some friction...God..._ The smaller man held his head (and had Sylar been in any other position and still blind, he'd have expected Peter's penis to breach his mouth), drawing his face down, with which Sylar cooperated. Peter spoke close to his face again; there wasn't much time to think. The other man was careful with him. Blood was still strong in his nose, but this close he could smell Peter, knew it was his mouth. It started off tender, gentle pressure from Peter's thinner pout, pressed against his like it was something real. Sylar let it blank his mind completely - his mind splitting too many different directions in pure shock. It was bliss, but it got better. Peter opened his lips to take more of Sylar's in and he was left gasping, feeling a hunger that was far healthier (and far more dangerous) flood him.

It hurt his neck, the angle, Peter's height, but Sylar leaned into it as much as he thought he would be allowed, finally tasting, finally getting Peter on his lips. His dick was wild for it. Sylar whined at a shameful pitch. His face was hot, he knew his neck and upper chest would be flushed red, his mouth felt numb and super-sensitized at the same time; his tongue aching in his own mouth, wanting to plunge and twist and taste Peter's. He grasped lightly at Peter's mouth with his own lips, trying to suction the man in a bit, although he was beyond thinking for the moment; a tug to the cuffs signaled his desire to touch and grab Peter for the kiss.

XXX

Peter pulled away after about thirty seconds, making a small sound of want in the back of his throat even though he was the one ending it. "Good," he panted, because something needed to be said in the silence and his usual declaration of love was so out of place that it didn't even enter his mind. Yet there was still an empty spot there, where he knew he should say something, so he filled it with 'good'. His brain was drowning in thoughts carnal and base anyway. This was now sex and he was plunging ahead.

XXX

"Fuck," Sylar growled in a tone close to breaking to indicate his high interest in the kiss. He was blind, so he'd kept leaning forward as Peter pulled away, putting his whole body into it, literally. His lips parted quickly as he waited for Peter's return, hoping it was not long in coming, meanwhile flexing his arms and wrists, hands fisted to indicate his sexual frustration in all its intensity.

XXX

Peter dropped to kiss Sylar lingeringly on the neck, then the collarbone. Here, he did taste and let his teeth drag across Sylar's skin without nipping. He'd get to that later. Another button unfastened and Peter stepped around behind Sylar, reaching around to undo the last of them, parting the fabric. He ran his hands up Sylar's bared skin from waist to abdomen to chest, pressing against his upper chest as Peter buried his face in Sylar's back, breathing him in. "Oh," he moaned softly, "so good."

XXX

"Uuhnn!" Sylar dropped his head to the side to expose his neck, uncaring if Peter bit him or not, partly desiring just that. His noise was significantly louder now, tortured by the press of teeth. He panted as his chest was exposed, feeling completely desired - after all, he was being systematically stripped. His nipples and flesh were aware of the open air now as he enjoyed momentary goosebumps, shivering as Peter caressed him again. "Yeah," he dared to whisper, loving the warm contact of Peter behind him, strong arms around him.

XXX

Peter's fingers found Sylar's nipples, tweaking lightly and oh-so-gratified by Sylar's squirm and high-pitched grunt. Peter cleaved his body to Sylar's, cupping against him, and tweaked them again. He loved the feeling of the other man shifting against him, especially his ass rubbing against the front of Peter's jeans. He stroked up and down Sylar's chest and stomach, biting lightly at his shoulder and pinching at those nubs a few more times. He ground himself against Sylar's ass in time with his motions.

XXX

Sylar was so hard, he felt the light pinches on to his nipples echoed in his cock, but that wasn't what drew sound from him. The buds were stiff, just like the rest of him, almost painfully so, although Sylar had never taken much notice of his nipples before (except when shapeshifting). The pleasant abuse was startling and he went up on the balls of his feet in reaction, feeling his body rubbing against Peter. The cuffs jangled once more - he was the definition of helplessly aroused. "Eh!"  _That did not just happ-_ "Uh!" This time he went with it and determined what he thought he'd felt the first time. Peter was achingly hard as well so he made an effort to slide himself back against the straining organ, looking to speed Peter's pace. The nurse bought it, touching him more (not abandoning his nipples, oh no, not after the noises he'd made). Peter was giving him regular strokes now, pressing his erection at Sylar's cleft and it was so good, Sylar could feel his own cock throbbing in sympathy or...empathy, whichever, whatever. He pushed back as hard as possible, more taken with Peter's erection than he was with Peter's hands suddenly. His own digits were clenched to the poles to keep his balance as they both pushed, trying to spread his legs and stay upright at the same time with limited success although Peter held him steady. Peter was so close, only a few layers of cloth between them; it wouldn't be long now. Sylar groaned, nearly uninhibited, begging phrases on the tip of his tongue for this to continue or for Peter to finally take him, get inside and do the deed.

XXX

Eventually … finally … Peter's hands dropped to the top of Sylar's pants. He ran a thumb under the waistband teasingly for a moment, then unfastened it. He took another moment just to be a bastard about it because he knew Sylar had to be turning blue by now. He pressed his hands over the man's groin, still covered with cloth, and outlined him, one hand on each side, feeling his heat and sighing in appreciation. And rising lust. Peter bit Sylar's shoulder harder – possibly enough to bruise, not enough to cut the skin (especially through the shirt as it was).

XXX

A low-voiced, open-mouthed whimper escaped Sylar, echoing in the room over their panting and grinding. Then a slutty whine at that tempting thumb, it practically tickled. "Uhn, God..." he expelled before his breath sucked in and he outright moaned. Peter was touching his cock through his jeans. He was going to burn through the jeans and singe Peter anyway, but god-damn. "Ooh...!" The hands alone were pressures he could barely withstand. That Peter used both hands was just...Sylar barely felt the impact on his shoulder, his hips already on the move with or without his permission, curving and attempting to rut against Peter's hands. "Peter..." he urged, unsure of what he even wanted besides fucking  _more_.

XXX

Peter pulled down the zipper, then took Sylar's pants at the hips and inched them down, then pushed them harder once the most sensitive areas were cleared. Peter shifted to look at what he'd bared to the world.

XXX

Part of Sylar cried out 'Yes!' as the other half gulped at the realization that he was blind and Peter could, and would, see everything there was to see...and Sylar would be in the dark about the man's reaction. Reflexively he jerked at the cuffs, feeling air caressing his body now instead of Peter's warm hands. He would be judged; he wouldn't be able to see anything coming, assuming it came at all; this was probably the most vulnerable he'd ever been, almost naked and standing restrained. This could end so badly, he was reminded of this again in the instant he would be gratified or...or... Peter was again considerate, not ripping down his jeans which would have road-rashed his cock to no end. Sylar had come prepared - commando, no underwear.

His pants were then shoved down above his knees whereupon Sylar tried to shuffle them down, thinking he would need to spread better with Peter...still behind him. This was really happening. He breathed faster, but his arousal faded a healthy amount. He could be hurt or mocked so easily now, much easier than ever before. He was hard and bared and so fucking dependent. Sylar swallowed. At least his cock was free to throb at the world, no longer trapped in his pants and he still wanted more of Peter, almost any way he could get it. "Peter..." he said, this time open and wary, almost questioning.

XXX

Beautifully, totally, definitely male. Not that Peter had had any doubts. Sylar was plenty masculine. His so-human doubt made Peter's heart flutter and his hands curl around the guy almost reflexively, wanting to defend him from his fears, because he knew what Sylar must be thinking. Humiliation was not a torture Peter was into. Nor was it at all what he was thinking. "You are  _so_  sexy," Peter breathed, his voice nearly a whine. He gave the man's now-bare ass a slow, hard grind, letting him know Peter liked what he saw. "You could seduce a fucking  _stone_ , Sylar."

XXX

He didn't have long to wait. Sylar allowed his head to drop back at that delicious thrust; it was a positive reaction. He felt Peter's jeans roughly rubbing against his skin and that just added to the mood, though he would have preferred Peter to be naked as well. Of course he wanted to feel the man's skin, his heat. He moved with Peter, stress relief caused him to give a breathless laugh at Peter's tone, the words used. Later he would think back on the irony of 'seducing a stone' given Peter's full name, but right now he was flattered and thrilled beyond belief, living up the compliment. He was sexy; he was good enough - he was getting Peter off and that was like a drug to his system.

XXX

The penis Peter surveyed had the slightest curve towards Sylar's belly, otherwise standing proudly and straight. It was a ruddy shade of Sylar's skin with an even redder head to it. It looked to be a full handful and long enough for everything Peter might want it for, assuming he ever had the pleasure. He immediately wanted to put his mouth to it, but he was hesitant on that. He … wanted to know Sylar a little better. They'd hardly even talked about sex at all and definitely never in relation to one another. Until they did, Peter was going basic and simple with this. Less chance of someone getting hurt; less chance of a misunderstanding.

Instead, he satisfied his mouth by pulling up Sylar's shirt and biting him along the stretched muscle of his shoulder blade, groaning against the man's skin and continuing to grind against him. It was only a few seconds, though, before Peter was reaching for what he'd exposed. He wrapped his left arm around Sylar's chest, holding him tight, while his right skimmed over hip to groin, brushing over pubic hair with a few casual sweeps before running the pad of one finger up the outer edge of Sylar's straining organ. He stopped at the spot just short of the head, the frenulum, which tended to be the most sensitive part. He smoothed his finger in a tiny circle over and over that spot until Sylar's squirming dislodged him.

XXX

A muted snarl was Sylar's response to the bite; oh, he wanted more of that. The only contact he had was Peter's groin against him. Sylar didn't expect more than that, really, although he had expected Peter to be penetrating him, using him before now - yeah, he'd expected for Peter to open his pants and get in him. It left him hard and searching in the open air but he hadn't pictured his own needs would be tended. Sylar panted, his shoulders feeling like water, trying to brace against Peter's grinding pelvis (hell, that alone might get him off, given enough time). "Oh...wha-?" Once again he felt a warm palm moving over him, causing him to blush hard when his...captor felt up his pubic hair, but then he felt something small and human over his cock. Was that a finger?  _No way.._.Sylar was already arching his back, needy to that touch alone, anticipating more teasing as he whimpered. Peter touched under the head of his cock and it felt like a live-wire, electricity finally rushing through his veins to trigger his nerves. Heat exploded all over and his injuries throbbed, but so did his cock. His voice's pitch went high (so high he would later be embarrassed), "Oh my God...!" He found his hips were moving to avoid and get more of that contact at the same time and he wasn't moving in direct thrusts, either, circling and bucking against that single finger. It practically tickled and hurt it felt so good; he could barely hold himself up.

XXX

"So fucking hot," Peter rasped, leaning a little to the left so he could watch what he was doing. His own body was solidly flush with Sylar's, capturing every wriggle and squirm. Peter's cock was straining so hard it hurt, but Sylar's motions and sounds and the whole situation was driving Peter mad with desire. Maybe he should have teased Sylar more, but he gave it up and took the man's dick in his hand, gently sleeving it up and down. It felt so velvety smooth and hot in his hand.

XXX

Sylar heard Peter's adulation, but it barely registered - the guy's hand was finally on his dick. He felt the deep tone of Peter's voice as it rumbled through his back, what with the empath's chest molded to his spine. That was so hot, Peter breathing lust on him. He felt like he could leave his skin at having someone, a good looking, gentle someone, who'd beaten him into submission, touching his manhood was making him quiver. The empath's erection was like a threatening brand as it tried to slide between his cheeks through Peter's jeans; it was also tantalizing him with dark promise of 'maybe later' if he could think that far ahead. Had Sylar had more brainpower, he would have tried more actively to rub back against Peter and try to work the guy off. Peter gripped him and Sylar gasped.  _Oh, God..._ He didn't know whether to panic or pop. "Uughnyeah..." he moaned, delighting in the savoring touch. Peter could be rough; he didn't have to do this at all, but he was doing it anyway and that had Sylar weak at the knees. He wondered what he would have to do as repayment and that was fuel to his fire. He began breathing mindless nonsense under his breath, busily fucking Peter's fist, "Yeahtouchmetouch...likethatyesuuh!"

XXX

Peter wondered how Sylar liked it and would have loved to ask, but he didn't want to interrupt for a Q&A. Now seemed like a bad time. And yet another reason why the least invasive and involved sex act seemed like the best route. Instead, he fitted his groin against Sylar's ass as best he could and held the man's dick as if it were Peter's own and he were masturbating in the shower or the bedroom or the coat closet (yes, Peter had some weird habits – best not to contemplate them here). He started with a few long, sure strokes from base to tip, milking the cock for precome that he then slicked over the top, squeezing it a few times before making short pumps from tip to half-shaft and then back up. He wished he had his left hand free to help out, fondle balls, and the like, but he didn't want to leave Sylar unsupported. Peter wasn't sure how much weight Sylar had been putting on the cuffs, but they'd been making noise. He scooted his left hand up and over so that fingertip and thumb found Sylar's right nipple.

XXX

Hopefully Peter did not expect Sylar to stand like a mummy and take this sensual torment. Such would be impossible. Instead of stroking away, Peter began by easing his hand down Sylar's swollen shaft. In the back of his mind, Sylar found that odd until it was explained, a few groan-inducing squeezes to test the heft of him before Peter smeared him with his own lubrications. He's been leaking badly for too long now, though the fluid wasn't enough and hand job was still rough. Sylar hardly minded, found he kind of liked it this way.  _He thinks of everything._ Sylar's eyes were squeezed shut behind the blindfold. Peter found a fantastic grip and set something of a rhythm - fucking goddamn finally. "Ooh...Oh, fuck, Peter..." Sylar wasn't even the type to moan his sex partner's name or make much noise at all, but here he was doing just that; apparently he couldn't help it. This was completely kinky, erotic, even and he was loving every second of it. Badly he wanted to be inside something other than a fist, but this, after years of going untouched...He'd never had a hand job and this one was perfect aside from the pull on his shoulders from the cuffs and the potential to be unbalanced.

XXX

"You are incredible," Peter growled, holding tight and stroking harder, using more of a grip and sliding from top to bottom now, pausing every five or six strokes to milk upward, raising Sylar up on the balls of his feet. Peter paused to spit liberally in his right hand, returning it immediately to Sylar's shaft and smearing the extra lubrication.

XXX

Another aroused, thoughtless sound in reply. Sylar worked himself between Peter's cock and fist, rolling his hips, moaning and whimpering gratuitously. He felt harder than he'd ever been and he was getting close. The rhythm making him weak - tighter, wetter, faster, harder. The slight sound of Peter spitting brought him back to reality because he'd heard that sound before during sex. His hips stilled for a moment until the nurse's hand returned to his dick feeling slick with saliva. Sylar relaxed back into it with too much ease. Was it supposed to be this easy? He was seconds from begging Peter to fuck him. Sylar knew he certainly isn't going to last, but that didn't factor in (he didn't have to be hard to get fucked).

XXX

"Come on," Peter whispered ardently. "Show me how hot this is making you. Show me how much you want me. Show me what you'll look like when you come inside of me." Even though Peter said it, and passionately, that last line threw him out of it a little. It invited so much speculation about next/other times, positions, if he'd be safe with Sylar unbound, fucking him, thinking he had automatic sexual access maybe … Peter gave a brief shake of his head to shut that out and jerked Sylar faster. It wasn't like he didn't have the best distraction in the world here. "Come for me," he said, and this time it was more akin to an order. He bit Sylar on the back, eyes rolling up in his head as he continued working him with his fist. "Come for me before I come in my pants. Jesus Christ ..." Peter virtually begged, voice wavering.

XXX

Sylar cried out on cue. Peter was going to talk filth in his ear to get him off? He should have guessed the little pervert would be so dirty. The pace increased just as he needed it. Sylar was heaving for air, sensitive and flushed, sweating, but it was Peter's admission of being close that had him gushing. Peter's voice pleading for him to come was so sweet; the bite to his back to indicate passion; the thought of Peter jizzing his pants at all, before Sylar came, that this would get him off... That Peter wanted him to get off was just too much. Sylar spread his legs and thrust hard and erratic, Peter still holding him chest and cock, as his body began to numb, feeling the end of his dick erupt and overflow. His orgasm tore through him. He bit his lip to stifle his whine of ecstasy as he pulsed, spitting up what felt like loads of sperm. God, it had been too long. His eyes had squeezed shut and they stayed that way as he slumped, loose-limbed, balls aching from their expulsion. "Ohh..." he sighed.

XXX

Peter bit him again, because even though Sylar might be spent, Peter was still straining for release and his desire was still pounding through him. The feel of Sylar's hot fluid surging over his hand as he continued pumping through the orgasm made him tingle and for a moment, Peter thought that was it – he'd pop. Panting, so eager for completion that his focus was narrowed to only that, he left his partner and stumbled back to the chair he'd used to put the rope through the hook earlier. He raised his right hand to his face, inhaling the thick, enticing musk of Sylar's sex where it coated his fingers. Another tingle shot through him – if he didn't hurry, he really would come in his pants.

He shoved them down as much as he needed with his left hand, past caring if he hurt himself with haphazard yanking on his clothing. His left hand wrapped around himself as he couldn't wait any longer, tongue swiping from knuckle to fingertip, lapping up the essence – salty, slippery, still warm. Peter found such a thing delicious most of the time when he was horny. Given his current state of aching, desperate need, it was fucking ambrosia – liquid proof that he turned them on and they at least lusted after him for the moment. It was the appreciation he craved, that he could do something for someone and they wanted it.

XXX

Sylar was numb, his head fuzzy - his eyes, had they been open, would have been blurred and unfocused - useless. Sex and relief were still raging through his system, but it was bliss. He was safe enough for this; he'd been given this and it was fantastic, wonderful. He hadn't realized how much Peter had been holding him up because the instant the nurse left, Sylar was slumping, limbs heavy and loose with no dexterity. His breathing was now beyond mere panting excitation - something in his chest was fluttering and twisting close to panic or some kind of serious after-stress reaction, he didn't know what but it mimicked sobbing for air pretty well. Had he been more aware, he would have been embarrassed. He couldn't pin down an emotion or feeling, a direction, nothing. It felt so good, too good and it was scary. It felt like release surpassing ejaculation, but he couldn't tell.

Peter didn't...return.  _He didn't...leave, did he?_  Not with lube or condoms, no exploring fingers or forceful cock. He was left cooling, still strung up, standing and fairly naked, pants around his ankles after one hell of a fantastic hand job - not that he knew it if was a great hand job or not but it had been so far beyond 'adequate' for him. He'd never had one before and having someone else's hand on his junk, while terrifying, was sublime and unparalleled. Someone  _wanted_  to touch him, so they did. He liked being wanted a lot, especially if hand jobs were part of it. Sylar thought he heard noises of the chair and felt a surge of unfairness about his blind situation. He wanted to see Peter, too. Peter got to see him, now Sylar wanted to see the nurse in all his glory (or close to it). It was sure to be another kind of blinding.

Acting out against Peter's "wishes" now, Sylar lifted a shoulder and dropped his head to the side, maneuvering the two together until he managed to raise the blindfold enough to peek under it, quickly looking behind to see where Peter was and what exactly he was doing, if he was so lucky to see that far back... _Yes!_ Another rush of arousal went through him, jolting his still-aching, dangling, sticky, receding cock.  _Oh, Jesus..._ Peter was sitting on the chair, pants open, dick out. Sylar couldn't see a whole lot of detail, but he saw that Peter was a good handful in size and about the same color as the rest of Peter's soft skin. The nurse was holding himself in one strong hand and...If he hadn't felt weak already, he did now. Peter was licking his fingers clean of Sylar's spunk, moaning, eyes shut, and looking so pleased with himself.

XXX

Peter twitched and jerked with another full body tingle and this time it didn't fade. Point of no return passed … too bad, he'd wanted to savor this. He sucked his fingers into his mouth with a lewd slurping noise. Two fingers, then three, as his body felt like it lit up from the inside. His eyes were shut in rapture. Sucking faltered and there was just the taste lingering so lovely and satisfying on his tongue. He moaned in the back of his throat as his balls clenched and his peak crested, his legs stiffening and toes curling in his shoes. His left hand had hardly done anything but hold himself, pointed conveniently enough so he didn't make a complete mess.

"Whuh, whuh, whuh," he said inarticulately, trying to saying, 'whoa' and failing as he struggled to get his breath. He shuddered with aftershocks and languidly, sensuously, cleaned his fingers with meticulous care. His shoulders slumped in relaxation as his eyes opened. He stared forward at Sylar's ass, thinking barely-coherent fantasies about it. His gaze climbed up the man's form, drinking him in with a lazy, fulfilled smile. Peter sighed with a mix of satisfaction and disappointment: glad of what they'd done, unhappy it was over. With that, the complexities of the situation threatened to flood over him and douse all the pleasure he'd had from this. Refusing to contemplate them, he stood, shrugging away the cloying thoughts as he popped his neck to one side and then the other with a couple cracking noises. He pulled his pants back up and fastened them, putting himself away and wiping his hands on his thighs.

XXX

Sylar was struck quite dumb at the sight, surprised as could be.  _He...jerks me off and..._ He could barely think the words.  _He gets off on tasting my come? Holy fuck, I..._ It was horribly sexy. He hadn't known people...really did that, for fun, without being forced.  _What a kinky little pervert. I knew it!_ That presented so many other options he'd originally considered to be 'off the table'. He tried to watch Peter's mouth engulfing his fingers, darling crooked pink lips sliding up and down, his tongue wet and lewd over his own hand and enjoyed the knowledge of what Peter must be tasting...willingly, eagerly, knowing where the substance originated. As Sylar strained (in more ways than one) to watch, what with the angle of his neck and eye-socket, Peter's swollen erection twitched as he sucked on his filthy fingers - barely a stroke or squeeze with the hand grasping his shaft and he looked ready to come. Peter choked on his air as he came.  _Beautiful_ , Sylar assessed instantly with more than his rightful share of possessiveness. Mouth open, chest heaving, sweaty and fit with his hair stuck to his forehead, Peter spurted his release over the tarp.  _That's it...Come for_ **me**   _now, Peter. God, he's so easy!_

 _And shameless!_ The empath still wasn't through with his fingers, taking his time with them now, post-orgasm. He noticed Peter staring and it was only a matter of seconds before he noticed Sylar's face turned back. Reluctantly, he faced forward and attempted to subtly reposition the towel over his eyes. He had no idea what the punishment would be for that and didn't care to find out.  _Let him look, maybe he'll come back for more...?_ It dawned on him then just how well things had gone (the foreplay of fists notwithstanding) - he hadn't been fucked.  _He didn't fuck me? Didn't even cop a feel. What does that mean?_ Sylar thought in trepidation, trying not to but beginning to worry.  _Was I not good enough? Did I not include some favorite, necessary toy? Was the position bad? He could have laid me down! Should I offer? Say something?_


	6. World's Most Fucked Up Pillow Talk

Peter reached over his head for the trailing end of the rope, sorting between the two to get the right one. "I'm going to take down the rope," he warned in a neutral tone. "You might want to hang onto the bars at first." A hard jerk later, the end of the rope fell unfettered from hook to bar. Peter pulled on the other end of it, drawing it through the cuffs and removing the impediment to them sliding down the poles. It didn't release Sylar, but it would make him a lot more comfortable, able to move his hands up and down freely.

Peter dropped the rope to the side and stepped forward, running a possessive hand from the midpoint of the back of Sylar's thigh up his leg and over his buttocks to the small of his back, hand skimming directly over the man's crack on the way.  _I could really get used to this_ , Peter thought of how he could handle Sylar without consequence. The back of his mind buzzed in dissension – there were consequences, all right. Soon, he wouldn't be able to ignore the repercussions this whole dalliance was going to have.

But for now, he tugged aside Sylar's shirt collar and kissed him on the skin of the upper line of his shoulder, nibbling slightly as Peter was still high on endorphins and warm, fuzzy feelings of affection. He wanted to curl up under a soft blanket with his partner, embrace and confess undying feelings of tenderness and devotion. Not that he thought they'd be returned. And if they were, Peter would probably freak out. He smiled wanly, finally having a little understanding of why so many of his own partners had ditched him after the first date. Peter Petrelli could be too clingy by far.  _Not a problem with Sylar,_  he thought as he stroked from Sylar's hip upwards to ribs. "You are  _delicious_ ," Peter purred, meaning it as merely a general observation about Sylar's sexiness, though his subconscious was probably betraying him.

XXX

The empath released Sylar's arms from their more upright position. Sylar jerked in surprise as something...the rope! landed on his head in consequence but he was still attached via cuffs to the poles which he'd held onto as per instruction. Sylar's arms immediately ached, cramping in the new, relaxed position; he grimaced and muffled his hiss about it. He then sighed; it felt better. He felt...he didn't know and certainly couldn't describe it - better than before yet with new and different worries. As if to address that, Sylar felt a hand on his thigh, traveling up...up... _Maybe he is gonna fuck me? Or he's threatening to; promising to?_  He straightened, he knew he did, in reaction to that because any number of things could follow that hand as it traced over the last place he wanted it. Right after, though, Peter was tugging his shirt aside for more skin and mouth on his shoulder - Sylar dropped his head forward, relaxing his frame again with a tiny groan. Peter didn't quit touching him and Sylar adored the hell out of it, marking a sound and squirming closer to the hand and his partner's body, feeling like an unsafe idiot but it felt so good, he could hardly care. So, so dangerous. He purred back with only a trace of smugness (but with healthy appreciation, gratitude, how on earth was he going to thank Peter for this?), having enough of Peter's fucked-out tone of voice so close to his body, "Finger lickin' good."  _You can have this any time, wow. More than any time you want it, actually. He's...good. Damn, is he ever_ **good** _._

XXX

Sylar swaying into him, towards him, did all sorts of good things for Peter's ego. Peter was mouthing along the upper line of Sylar's shoulder, rooting sedately under the shirt and imbibing the trapped scent there when Sylar said his piece. A second later, Peter froze.  _He saw me? Fuck, he_ _ **saw**_ _me?_  A ridiculous panic ran through him, right on the heels of a thrill - goose-bumps. The ' _Did he see me?_ _'_ that he thought next was more hopeful than upset, although he tried for the moment to squash that.  _I'm in control here, right?_  Peter rose up on his toes, looking over Sylar's shoulder at the blindfold. It was … mostly in place. It looked rumpled and tampered with.  _Probably rubbed against something,_  Peter realized.  _I've got to be in control._

Peter put his right foot forward, close against Sylar's heels, and braced himself with his left. His left hand ran up Sylar's spine until he buried it in the man's hair and made a fist, knocking aside the blindfold in the process. His right arm wrapped around the man's chest, just below Sylar's arms. Peter pulled back and down on Sylar's hair, pushing just an inch with the foot against his heels. The man had no leverage against him – pulled backwards, unable to get his feet under him with pants around his ankles and an obstruction (Peter's foot) directly behind. The main thing that kept him from falling were the shackles around his wrists. Peter's arm around him was just a failsafe – in case Sylar's feet kicked out from under him and he started to fall.

XXX

 _Ah!_ And then there was light...and a hand in his hair. Sylar felt himself dragged back, feet unmoving. He panicked because this was just like the chair, however long ago, but without the chair. _Fuck...gravity..._  On instinct, his arms tried to move to catch or otherwise support himself but came up short. He couldn't get balance with his feet either, so he hung by his wrists which was uncomfortable and painful to his hands.  _Trying to break my thumbs? Shit._  He didn't go easily - flexing his arms in attempts to pull himself away (not effective, of course, because of the hand in his hair and he lacked the arm-strength necessary against his companion's better position), yanking at the cuffs, trying to get a hold on them or the poles but Peter had him pulled taut. That avenue exhausted, he made to move the rest of his body but was trapped by...something behind his foot still trapped in his fucking pants. He thrashed again a few times to test his restraints, all of them.  _Snap my neck? He wouldn't need to do all this to do that, though...What the hell is he doing then?_

XXX

Peter waited several tense moments as Sylar stilled and the vulnerability of his position was made clear – arched, naked, Peter the only thing holding him up. For the first time, Peter could see the full glory of Sylar's expressive face. His own was flushed, a little damp from the exertions, lust stamped on it firmly. Peter's lips were parted as he breathed. A quick glance down Sylar's body had him panting again – arousal and excitement, even if his dick was still on siesta at the moment. But that was only a glance. His main attention was to Sylar's face, locking eyes with him. "Someone's been _peeking_ ," he growled, shifting Sylar a few inches and tightening his grip around the man's chest while he did it. The hand at the back of Sylar's head turned his face towards Peter, who dipped his. Lips closed over Sylar's teasingly at first, then firmer as Peter sank into it, making a sound of pleasure and possession deep in his throat.

XXX

But Peter didn't move or say anything while Sylar...adjusted. He snarled to show he wasn't beaten, no matter what came next. He felt like a trapped animal or some kind of bondage freak.  _Well, I did just let him jerk me off. A man. Peter Petrelli no less. (And I liked it)._  Dimly, he felt Peter's hand around him and he wondered what that was doing - it wasn't feeling him up, obviously. He could see Peter's face now with ease, or as much ease as his neck arched all the way back as it was, held in place. That, along with his legs and core muscles, were strained by the positioning - he already felt rubbery after his orgasm, his muscles spent, and he wished to be released from the cuffs to stretch at least, maybe make a break for it and lie down somewhere safe to enjoy reliving the event...But Peter wasn't through.  _How long will he hold me here? How long_ **can**   _he hold me? Is this...punishment?_ Sylar eyed the most likely answer - Peter's face. Gorgeous face, intent and intense (more so from the angle Sylar viewed him from), post-coital in a way. It was freaking lickable. Sylar wanted his hands free for different reasons than just being freed now.  _Oh, let me go. The things I wanna do to you. I can return the favor, no bondage necessary._

The nurse's face wasn't...that angry or violent even; in fact, Peter still looked to be in the mood. A quick look down his rather spread frame darkened Peter's eyes and clued Sylar in immediately.  _Ooh. Punishment. I see,_  he thought gleefully, unable to prevent the slight smirk on his mouth from being disobedient and inspected as a result. It made his heart rate increase once more with fervor - though he didn't know if he was feeling ashamed or slutty for being ogled. It didn't slip past him that Peter was allowed to 'peek' but Sylar was not. He would have squirmed and chuckled had his throat been able; as it was, he swallowed and stared back as Peter met his gaze, making sure his own was filthy and inviting.

Sylar didn't know how to answer Peter's observation; 'And I'm not sorry' was his primary thought, the second being 'what would you do in my position?' and the third, 'It's not fair otherwise.' While his mouth was already open, he put it in motion to answer before his head was tilted (like it or not, he was being moved where Peter wanted him to be). He breathed hard, feeling warm, lush lips on his, a vocal exhale of "Oh..." that was laced with desire.  _He's desperate to make me hard again, I swear...Hands, I want my hands! I wanna touch you, too. He's kissing me...Wow, so good.._.Again, he tried tugging himself free, something of a compliment to Peter, while savoring the gentle-but-passionate kiss he was being given. Bent backwards - literally! - tied up, naked, disobedient and getting macked on. He began to whine, the need to touch back overwhelming him; Sylar pushed up and into Peter's mouth as much as he could. If being greedy would gain rewards, he'd be Peter's whore, no problem.

XXX

 _He wants me!_  All those signs of desire were what Peter ached for and for several long moments, he continued the kiss because he was getting them. He only stopped out of consideration for the strain of Sylar's position. Peter pulled back slightly, parting their lips as he opened his eyes again. Evading Sylar's mouth, Peter kissed a few times along the man's cheek and then rubbed the tip of his nose against the side of Sylar's, closing his eyes briefly in bliss. He drew away with reluctance and propped the man up slowly.

XXX

Peter's lips left him and Sylar opened his eyes naturally to see why. He watched with a hazy stare as Peter smooched on his face and gave him the most tender eskimo kiss - nose to nose. Sylar had no words for that, a bit breathlessly surprised, but he was sure he'd remember it for a long, long time.

XXX

Sure that Sylar was back on his feet, Peter went to his knees behind him, hands settling on the outside of Sylar's upper thighs and stroking downwards to his jeans. "Hold still," Peter said in a low voice. "I'm going to pull your pants up." He jiggled them a little to get the hem of one out from under Sylar's shoe. Once he was sure he could bring them all the way up, Peter hesitated, mesmerized and distracted by the inviting flesh just inches from his face. He leaned in and kissed Sylar's butt cheek softly as one hand released the pants to stroke gently at Sylar's hair-covered shin. He kissed several more times and nuzzled over towards the man's hip, simply enjoying the moment and letting his mind be blank. He wanted more – to hold and caress, be held and caressed. The belief that the latter wasn't an option (and even more, his twisted, conflicting emotions about allowing it to even  _be_  possible) brought him back to what he was doing on his knees. He got his feet under him and pulled Sylar's pants up, drawing them up carefully over his hips.

XXX

 _That doesn't sound dirty at all._ It was a nice gesture, though, the pants; even if Sylar didn't understand it. Mid-motions, he felt light contact to his buttock - three linear touches of Peter's flesh. _He's...covered, though, so what...?_ Twisting around to try to view the source, he discovered it was Peter's face, or more accurately, his mouth.  _Oh_...he thought, interested despite himself. It was an odd place (close to other, less-kissable places he'd assumed would garner more attention) to be kissed; exciting him with it's oddity and newness. Sylar breathed an audible noise as Peter kept that up, rubbing his face into Sylar's skin as he went, pants momentarily forgotten. He closed his eyes and drank it in until he felt the denim sliding up his legs and again, he assumed that was all Peter would do.

XXX

Peter moved directly behind Sylar, nibbling idly at a shoulder blade through the shirt as his arms wrapped around Sylar's front and tucked him away with attentive care. He double-checked that everything was clear before pulling up the zipper, refastening the button, and tugging on the belt loops to make sure the jeans were positioned right.

XXX

Once more his groin was handled. Sylar felt the oversensitive shocks, somewhat dulled over time, still shuddering through him - touch in its rawest form, after orgasm, being mainlined into his nervous system.  _It's been a really long time...He's gonna...do my pants for me? Um..._ Sylar squirmed away, accidentally locating Peter's crotch with a bump of his ass when the zipper came up, just as a precaution, but there was no incident. He found himself breathing again.

XXX

With a deep sigh, Peter ducked under Sylar's arm to stand in front of him. Right in his gaze. The power of those eyes and the awareness of … expectations, judgment, maybe even questions that Sylar might pose to him about his conduct and his choices, questions Peter didn't want to answer … it made Peter shrink a little, glancing down and back and forth nervously. Fear and anger sparked in the back of his head. He hugged Sylar abruptly, squeezing shut his eyes and escaping the experience of being watched before those sparks could find fuel and ignite.

Peter adjusted his embrace, working his arms under Sylar's still-open shirt and running them over the man's smoothly muscled back. He nuzzled at his collarbone, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Peter leaned back, bringing his hands around to the front. After a briefer caress of the man's chest than he wanted, Peter raised them to either side of Sylar's face, cupping rather than holding. Only then did he lift his guilty eyes. "Sylar …" A nervous thumb stroked across a cheek. "I'm going to make you an offer. If we leave this room and you let me pretend that … that this didn't happen, if you don't make me face it ..." Peter couldn't take looking at him any longer, dropping his eyes first to his hands and then to Sylar's throat, finally to his hairy chest.  _This is cowardly_ , Peter condemned himself with a swallow.  _This is the most shitty thing I've ever done to anyone._  But Peter couldn't think of any other way out of the quandary of his morals. He could only hope that with a little time maybe he'd figure it out.

XXX

Sylar did his best to hug back using only his body, reveling in the act of being hugged.  _An offer?_  Sylar's head canted to the side an inch or two, curious and beginning to dread given Peter's body language. The only preparation he had for this was history, repeating itself. 'Pretend that this didn't happen.' He knew what came next; he knew what had happened, too.  _It wasn't good for him. How could it be?! How could it?! I couldn't...do anything, couldn't get him off, what did he expect?! That's what the blindfold was for. He spent the entire time picturing you were someone else - that's what all that talk was. Some old boyfriend, I bet. Doesn't want to lose 'Emma' over this. Forgettable, regrettable, a mistake, that's all it was; why would you ever think otherwise? Why would you ever hope that? I don't know why he even bothered getting me off then...What was all that for?_  Sylar recapped it simply: the guy he liked, he corrected himself, the guy he wanted action from was that afraid of him and wished to Haitian away the memory of sexual activity with him. Like he came with a re-set button. No feelings.  _Of course not. You're a thing. Disposable._

Every feeling he'd felt earlier felt like nausea, rising up to grip him by the throat. Rage and undistilled despair flooded him. He couldn't keep his stomach afloat, feeling it plummet with accompanying chills to his nerves before they went painfully numb. His face betrayed him for precious few seconds - eyes shut, head ducked away until he could recover a mask of some sort. His only rationale was 'it's just a hand job.' He would have hated to be fucked and told 'pretend it didn't happen', though he suspected it would come to that one day. The greater act, the more discomfort (or outright pain) and humiliation involved wouldn't warrant a different policy.

It hurt worse because he'd been in a similar situation before; it stung like the acid saline that pricked at his eyes; ridiculous. Probably the best time of his sexual life and 'pretend it didn't happen' was the pillow talk. Truth be told, one of the worse case scenarios he'd envisioned had included this; he shouldn't be surprised. He should certainly never be hopeful for anything more...how had he gotten that idea in his head? Oh, right...Peter getting him off so selflessly, talking to him and being gentle. Briefly he debated offering to do a better job at getting Peter off, next time, seeing that Peter was must be unsatisfied; he discarded the idea. It made him look desperate and it was Peter's own fault for positioning him badly and not giving the correct instructions for what he wanted. He inhaled to recover; he had an act to pull off and more than one bargain to keep. Sylar straightened up, shifting his shoulders back.

"Got it," he croaked, nodding roughly. "That's...to be expected,"  _Ha ha ha ha! Cause this is_ **normal**   _for me. Vomiting, regret and self-loathing are common side-effects after sex acts with me_. "Keep my mouth shut until you want it open, I got it," Sylar agreed, feeling like his skin wanted to crawl off his body now, mainly due to the kindness and gentleness Peter had displayed.  _Guy's desperate; you're convenient, you'll suffice, you know this. You offered him 'just sex' and that's what he wants._ His face was successfully blank as he forced himself to look at Peter. "Our little secret." He tugged on the handcuffs to indicate them, "Do you mind?" he asked, so quietly it was nearly a whisper; his first request for Peter to do something for him that day: please let me go, I want to cease existing, or disappear.  _Don't want to be where I'm not wanted; unfortunately, that's everywhere._ Thank God he was dressed already. While he thoughtlessly, hurtfully agreed to whatever it was Peter wanted, his subconscious was already plotting. Talking about it may not communicate his anger, but he knew his fists would do just fine later. It was insulting and devaluing. Retaliation for that kind of (he thought, needless) hurt would leak out somehow.  _Occasional blind sex is better than nothing,_  he consoled himself. There was no 'deal', no illusive fake offer, it wasn't even a choice; Peter  _ **Petrelli**_ wanted to ensure Sylar's silence permanently. Damn him, but it was effective.  _Gotta love that deniability._  Not Peter's whore, then, but Peter's toy.

XXX

 _Oh, no!_ _No, no, no!_  Pain from Sylar's reaction hit Peter like a physical blow, aching in the middle of his chest and radiating out to his extremities in an agonizing wave that left his hands nerveless and dropping from Sylar's face, his legs weak and wanting to collapse in shame. He didn't bother trying to conceal it and when Sylar asked to be released, Peter jumped at it, his mind racing to figure out how this had gone so bad so fast.  _What did Sylar expect from me? Did he think I'd be all 'wow, this was fun, we should have done it sooner!'? There were reasons why I never wanted to do it before! I knew I was fucked up … fucked up to have done it, fucked up to have fucked it up._  He hesitated at Sylar's left wrist, some Petrelli instinct shouting a wordless warning in his head that lines had been crossed, Sylar was angry and deeply hurt, Peter knew himself – he wasn't going to defend if attacked (not under these circumstances), and that letting the guy go right now might be very dangerous. Peter didn't know if it was masochism, suicidal tendencies, some sense of fairness, or all three that moved him to slide the key into the lock and rotate it, the faint click preceding the loosening and opening of the mechanism. He wrapped his hand firmly around the key, perversely unwilling to give it up even as he cringed, expecting to be struck.  _I'm sorry!_

No blow fell. Peter moved to the right one, eyes darting past to look at the mattress leaning against the wall. He just wanted to curl up on it and do nothing for a while, until the worst of his feelings passed. He didn't know what to do about Sylar. He couldn't look at him. Reaching for the right handcuff, he knew this might be his last chance to say anything substantive, maybe his last chance to say anything at all. Apologies, excuses, and explanations flew through his head, rejected before they even coalesced. If he got to say anything, and only one thing, what would that be? "That was fantastic. You were wonderful." His voice broke as a sob threatened.  _I'm so sorry!_  "Thank you," he got out roughly, blinking off the tears and sniffing. He slotted the peg-like key into the hole and turned it. Sylar was entirely free.

Peter didn't wait for Sylar to hit him, push him down, or leave. He went straight to the mattress, flopping it down to the floor where it landed with a rush of air much more dramatically than Peter wanted. He sat down immediately on the far edge of it, near the corner of the room, body angled away from Sylar. He put his forehead against the wall, trying to shut out everything, hoping that the next order of business wasn't Sylar using the things in the room on him. At that thought and the sounds behind him, he shuddered as he cried as quietly as he could.  _I'd deserve it._  Some saner part of his brain tried to argue for self-preservation and at least looking back to see what Sylar was up to, but the part in control would have none of it. Raw, vulnerable, frightened, ashamed – he huddled, unable to stop his traitorous mind from replaying little bits of ecstasy from their previous activities while telling himself he'd been wrong to do it, had hurt Sylar in doing it, and would never get to do it again.


	7. False Start

_Oh, no!_   _No, no, no!_ Pain from Sylar's reaction hit Peter like a physical blow, aching in the middle of his chest and radiating out to his extremities in an agonizing wave that left his hands nerveless and dropping from Sylar's face, his legs weak and wanting to collapse in shame. He didn't bother trying to conceal it and when Sylar asked to be released, Peter jumped at the task, his mind racing to figure out how this had gone so bad so fast.  _What did Sylar expect from me? Did he think I'd be all 'wow, this was fun, we should have done it sooner!'? There were reasons why I never wanted to do it before! I knew I was fucked up … fucked up to have done it, fucked up to have fucked it up._  He hesitated at Sylar's left wrist, some Petrelli instinct shouting a wordless warning in his head that lines had been crossed, Sylar was angry and deeply hurt, Peter knew himself – he wasn't going to defend if attacked (not under these circumstances), and letting the guy go right now might be very dangerous. Peter didn't know if it was masochism, suicidal tendencies, some sense of fairness, or all three that moved him to slide the key into the lock and rotate it, the faint click preceding the loosening and opening of the mechanism. He wrapped his hand firmly around the key, perversely unwilling to give it up even as he cringed, expecting to be struck.  _I'm sorry!_

No blow fell. Peter moved to the right one, eyes darting past to look at the mattress leaning against the wall. He just wanted to curl up on it and do nothing for a while, until the worst of his feelings passed. He didn't know what to do about Sylar. He couldn't look at him. Reaching for the right handcuff, he knew this might be his last chance to say anything substantive, maybe his last chance to say anything at all. Apologies, excuses, and explanations flew through his head, rejected before they even coalesced. If he got to say anything, and only one thing, what would that be? "That was fantastic. You were wonderful." His voice broke as a sob threatened.  _I'm so sorry!_  "Thank you," he got out roughly, blinking off the tears and sniffing. He slotted the peg-like key into the hole and turned it. Sylar was entirely free.

XXX

"I didn't-" do anything, Sylar was going to say, reaching out for Peter too late.

XXX

Peter didn't wait for Sylar to hit him, push him down, or leave. He went straight to the mattress, flopping it down to the floor where it landed with a rush of air much more dramatically than Peter wanted. He sat down immediately on the far edge of it, near the corner of the room, body angled away from Sylar. He put his forehead against the wall, trying to shut out everything, hoping that the next order of business wasn't Sylar using the things in the room on him. At that thought and the sounds behind him, he shuddered as he cried as quietly as he could.  _I'd deserve it._  Some saner part of his brain tried to argue for self-preservation and at least looking back to see what Sylar was up to, but the part in control would have none of it. Raw, vulnerable, frightened, ashamed – he huddled, unable to stop his traitorous mind from replaying little bits of ecstasy from their previous activities while telling himself he'd been wrong to do it, had hurt Sylar in doing it, and would never get to do it again.

XXX

Sylar's anger built as Peter turned and walked away, presumably for the bathroom to clean up. Sylar paused and dismissed any dialogue he might have - too angry, no words and it was now 'against the rules.' He knew Peter was upset, that much was obvious. Sylar pivoted for the door, arms aching, his mind in chaos - he didn't know where to go There was nothing to be done, but he needed to do something so he didn't feel this 'being taken advantage of' so keenly. Hope was difficult to mix with reality, he knew; should have given up hoping ages ago but it was a hard human reaction to kill it seemed. Mutedly, he knew he was being a hypocrite - promising sex under any conditions yet being disappointed when the condition he expected came about. Though he'd made the proper agreements - no retaliation and his silence, so, according to Peter, he was doing all that was needed to ensure sexual activity again.  _That's all that matters_ , he told himself through his fuming rage. A relationship or any kind of affection or gentleness had never been an option. It was the gentleness that confused him in the first place.

As he walked out, fingers on the buttons of his shirt, trying to get them to cooperate, nearly to the door, he heard a strange ' _Whump!_ ' sound of something falling to the floor. It wasn't a body; he knew from the sound, but it still caught his attention. He returned quickly, a little worried, to see that Peter had felled the mattress and was now huddled on it in the corner. Now he hesitated because the empath was crying, really crying, those wracking, soul-deep motions evident in his body. Sylar knew what it looked like from Nathan's memories (not that he needed them in this instance). Peter tried to cry quietly and it hit Sylar low in the gut, not erasing his anger, but...adding other, equally strong feelings and reactions to it. Peter looked like a little kid again when he cried - that's all Sylar could see - his face turning blotchy and wet with his hair in his face. It made Sylar feel like he'd viciously kicked his favored puppy.  _Why the fuck is he crying? How dare he cry? I'm not crying! I'm glad he's crying; he deserves it for treating me that way!_  His anger still raged in his mind even as he stared at the truly wrenching sight of Peter sobbing by himself. Sylar knew he needed to do something - Peter was incapable of helping himself right now, of that much he was certain. It was a delicate situation, one that held massive repercussions if he screwed up so he took a moment to think (as well as he could with Peter crying before him).

Peter might not take back any of the agreements if Sylar helped now, but Peter had been gentle and kind and unthinkably giving to Sylar when giving him a hand job. They'd begun with a fight, yes, but the only marks Sylar had on him from sexual activity was abused wrists, cramps and soreness. It may not mean much in the long-term, big picture sense - it may not matter to Peter - but those small things meant something to Sylar, so it mattered to him. Peter hadn't...hurt him. Sylar hadn't really meant to  _hurt_  Peter, but it made him feel better that Peter wasn't being an asshole about his feelings.  _Does he...care? No...This is...about him. He's sad for...himself. What's his problem been all this time again - letting other people down? He thinks Emma and Ma and Nathan's corpse are still out there to be ashamed of him. Course he's ashamed of sleeping with me - who wouldn't be? He doesn't think it's bragging rights. He just got his brother's murderer off and now he's...got to face that. That hurts him. He doesn't have any other options. Is that it? He needs to make himself feel better and that's why he's crying. Okay, so it has almost nothing to do with me, but he needs the support. He's just a baby, just a kid still. You did take away his big brother._  Perhaps there was a way to express gratitude, get his desired point across and assist Peter out of the shitty situation he was in, at least in making him feel better.  _I can't be your brother, Peter, but I know what this feels like. I know what you want when things are like this._ Sylar would try to give what he himself had always needed and wanted when he cried. Besides, if Peter was supposedly 'the boss', in control and he broke down...it left Sylar on dangerous eggshells with little way to anticipate or please.

Sylar went to the table of goodies and approached Peter with a few items. His pace was unhurried, but purposeful. Sylar set the items next to Peter's curled-up legs as he himself moved to kneel beside the man. He was still angry and incredibly hurt but that was a normal state of being for Sylar and unlike Peter, he was unused to being comforted when he felt bad or needed help. He didn't expect it. It would be his problem; his burden alone and he'd deal with it later even though time would make his feelings burn hotter not colder.  _This is really fucked up_ , he reminded himself, not for the first time. He couldn't keep track of who had hurt whom anymore.

XXX

Peter cowered when Sylar approached him, hearing the steps easily enough. He stopped making any other sounds as well, choking off the noises that had been coming unbidden from his throat by means of holding his breath. He didn't look up at first, just shrinking into himself and waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. Sylar didn't hit him – he put things down on the floor instead. Peter jumped back from the first object – a plastic bucket that rattled against the concrete floor before settling. He looked at the rest in confusion, unsure if he should let go of his fear at how mundane the stuff was, or if the normalcy was just a cover for what might come next. Then Sylar kneeled next to him, causing heart rate to spike and him to start breathing again in short, fast breaths. His head came up enough to let his darting eyes take in what was happening.

XXX

Sylar watched Peter flinch and stare wide-eyed at the objects beside him - a bucket, the Listerine, paper towels and a pair of large, blue towels - hardly sinister, but Peter didn't appear capable of that kind of cognition right now. Keeping that (and the fact that Peter looked like a spooked rabbit) in mind, Sylar moved slowly to unfurl a towel around Peter's shoulders and back. It wasn't a blanket, but it would do. The bucket was in case Peter needed to vomit or spit after the Listerine because he couldn't be that okay with Sylar's various 'tastes' in his mouth. The guy wanted to forget it happened and lingering substances on his tongue would be counter-productive. Sylar was familiar with needing or wanting to be clean after something sexual. He placed the bucket and mouthwash nearer to Peter so he could grab them as needed while he took up the second towel, placed in his own lap for now. He'd had sex partners flinch from him before and he'd never liked it. Yes, it was an admission of his superiority and strength; it was a kind of rush, but not the one he truly wanted. Peter especially was one unused to being in the position of needing to flinch from someone: innocent, untouched, privileged - he was doubly unfamiliar with it and so it must have been twice as much a shock to his system.

XXX

Peter swayed a little away from Sylar draping the towel on him, but it wasn't the frightened jerk from earlier. It was just … caution this time, instead of fear. It felt nice.  _He's helping me? Comforting me? Why?_  Not that he didn't appreciate it – he did, deeply. It made his chest ache and his stomach lurch, his emotions still very raw and easily pushed one way or the other. _I thought he was mad at me? I thought I hurt him? Kinda thought he might kill me, or at least torture me ..._  Peter stared dumbly at the bucket and mouthwash, trying to make sense of that.  _My breath is bad? Why would he care?_ Peter had eaten the guy's come earlier, but they'd kissed after that and it wasn't like they were going to kiss again, so why …? It seemed like all his mind could do at the moment was pose unanswered questions. That he didn't understand why he was being asked to do something didn't mean Peter didn't understand  _what_ he was being asked to do.

He picked up the mouthwash and fumbled off the cap, forcing himself to be calm and his fingers to cooperate. He swished dutifully and fully, hating the medicinal taste of Listerine and preferring milder, flavored mouthwashes. But Listerine struck Peter as a very Sylar choice – no middle ground, going to kill those germs no matter what, and perfectly willing to leave a bad taste in people's mouths in the process. He tried to fight down a hint of a smile at that, spitting into the bucket to hide it. He wiped his mouth with the corner of the towel, getting rid of the snot under his nose as well. He scrubbed at it a second time. Satisfied that he was at least passably clean, he looked up at Sylar with what was now a reasonably steady gaze.

XXX

Still kneeling above Peter, Sylar slid a hand up the far side of Peter's throat, both soft and prickly against his hand, getting to touch and see Peter now, not just the other way around like earlier. And badly he wanted to touch - the skin around his wrists would attest that. Peter wasn't dangerous, but he might be reactionary...there was no backlash. Sylar made his usual suicidal leap to see what happened. His hand traveled - caressed - to Peter's face, cupping his clammy cheek a moment before taking hold of his face with a grip on Peter's handsome jaw.

XXX

Touch. Gentle touch. Not hurting. Not being hurt. Tension drained out of Peter's body like water from an overturned cup. It was what he'd wanted all along and couldn't let himself have – why he'd tied Sylar up, chained him down, hadn't let the man return any of the liberties Peter took with Sylar's body. He couldn't allow it, or rather, he hadn't been able to allow it. Giving pleasure to Sylar was marginally acceptable, at least once Peter was drowned in lust and his big head stopped working. Receiving it, willingly, was just too much, though. He  _couldn't._  That was wrong. It was a selfishness and a betrayal that conflicted too directly with his desire to honor his brother's memory and revile his murderer. What Peter couldn't allow earlier, he was too broken now to refuse. His eyelids fluttered as he leaned heavily into Sylar's hand and let pleasure be perpetrated upon his body.

XXX

Sylar knew exactly what he was doing - he hurt, he hated being treated like a thing and his ego wouldn't stand for it; he was going to show Peter he hadn't won or broken him and that he had equal claims to the Petrelli as Peter had on him. Gently but firmly, he brought Peter's face up, still gorgeous despite the stuffy nose and red eyes and tear tracks. If anything, he looked like a sad doll. Sylar held him there, staring down into those watery hazel eyes until Peter saw him and really looked at him, acknowledged him. He was a person, a man; he was above Peter, in control, in position to do him harm; Peter was vulnerable and needing him and he wanted the man to feel that.

XXX

When his head was held still, Peter opened his heavy-lidded eyes, gaze flickering around Sylar's face once, then a second time, trying to divine the man's purpose. Sylar looked calm, resolute, and determined to communicate something. Questions bloomed again in Peter's mind and he tensed.  _What did I do? What did I say? Why is he looking at me like that? 'Pretend that this didn't happen', 'Our little secret', 'Got it' … it happened._  That was what Peter thought Sylar was trying to get across to him: it happened; you're going to face it; you're not going to get to pretend my feelings about it don't count. As much as Peter didn't want to deal with the seething abyss of emotional torment that awaited him if he tackled this issue, it helped him to know that he  _ **had**_  to and that it wasn't an option, or an offer, or a deal to negotiate and hope Sylar cooperated. There was to be no cooperation. Peter relaxed again, submitting to the new reality. His expression settled, calming. He pressed forward a little into Sylar's hand rather than trying to draw away. He met Sylar's eyes placidly, reconciled to the challenges he faced.  _Maybe this means he'll face them with me?_

XXX

After a moment to let that sink in, seeing what he needed to see, Sylar leaned down, opening his mouth wide to cover Peter's - claiming, completely possessive and desirous. He ignored the tears and the salty taste and focused on the warmth and soft heat of the man's lips as he moved his own repeatedly over them. He felt his eyes slide shut. Sylar took his time, lingering, savoring, taking what  _he_ wanted this time. He wasn't harsh, didn't tongue the man or bite him, but he did consume him. Sylar wouldn't deny that it made his cock swell again. Oh, the things he could do right now...He considered it, of course, but that was a ticket to rapist-label-city; he hadn't been joking about wanting Peter Petrelli's consent, and what's more, his enthusiasm.

XXX

 _Oh, God!_  Peter's libido surged to life, full force, taking his brain entirely off-line. A desperate desire ran through him for approval, for affection, for forgiveness for the sin of asking Sylar to ignore the whole encounter. Sylar's lips on his were absolution, baptism through love. One of Peter's hands gripped one side of Sylar's still-unbuttoned shirt, pulling hard even though they were plenty close enough. Peter unmistakably communicated that he wouldn't mind being closer, up against each other, or even on top of one another. They were on the mattress, after all, and methods of satisfying Sylar and proving to the other man that he hadn't wanted to hurt him came flooding into his mind in pornographic technicolor. His other hand went to Sylar's knee, nudging once –  _fall over with me onto the mattress, take me, show me it's okay, show me you won't hurt me, show me I didn't hurt you too bad and that you don't think I'm horrible for what I'm doing_ …  _I_ _ **am**_ _horrible. Oh, Nathan …_ This was completely morally indefensible. He was broken inside and he didn't think he'd ever be able to put the pieces back together.

Peter's tongue licked along the inside of Sylar's lips, his lust inflamed by the taste, purifying him of the harsh chemical flavor of the mouthwash. He wanted more, and he showed this by tugging Sylar's shirt, tilting his head and pressing their mouths together as he deepened the kiss further. He turned his body to face Sylar's. Peter's eyes were shut, letting himself be pulled under by the sensations, filling him up and setting him free of his wretched self-loathing. It wasn't like what he was doing was any morally worse than what he'd already done.  _Come on … take me! Give me something else to feel!_

XXX

Sylar's eyes shot open in surprise at the reciprocation. "Mmmf?" was his muffled reaction. He'd expected Peter to tolerate the kiss at best, then shove him off once he began to annoy. But no, he felt his shirt being yanked on and it caused him to scoot forward, closer, just to keep his balance (not that he minded). He didn't break away, though he was completely confused. One minute Peter was sobbing his guts out and now...Peter was all over him; kissing, tonguing him, adjusting his position, still hauling on his shirt for still more proximity...Sylar closed his eyes. The nurse seemed plenty into it so...whatever; Sylar didn't see any reason to not take what they both wanted, continue what they were already doing. He could feel his desire spiraling up quickly, spreading through him once more because this was what he'd wanted (if he was honest with himself) in the first go around. He adjusted angles and pressed back in equal measure, allowing Peter's tongue to slither and slide into his mouth, licking away at the slippery organ to taste Peter while his hands buried themselves in Peter's hair, keeping the man in place. Peter moaning was getting him hard. He didn't crouch down to get closer, as much as Peter seemed to want it, mostly because Sylar had no idea what was going on (he liked having access to Peter this way, too) and the moody whiplash would have consequences only for him in the long run if he screwed up, never mind how much he wished to-

Peter swung his nearer limb around Sylar's kneeling stance, placing him between the empath's legs. "Ughn!" he grunted past the tongue in his mouth, his cock, slow to harden at first, now throbbed in his pants. This was a few fantasies in one day; all he could think was that he'd played his cards right somehow - a mental  _'Yesss!'_ ringing in his head. A few moves and he could be on top of Peter Petrelli, grinding and kissing him. He felt like his head was spinning, different from before where he'd had no choice but to go along with things; now he had choices; he could respond or reject and otherwise be engaged - he could touch Peter back. The empath hauled him bodily down between his legs - Sylar dropping heavily onto his hands before he fell over the guy. They broke apart only at that moment, both breathing hard. Sylar stared down at the man below. Peter's chest was heaving beautifully and Sylar's instinct was to strip him and look at the rest of his body, wonderfully bare for the first time, similar to what Peter had done to him. Peter dragged him all the way down atop his firm, muscular, humanly-warm body and once there, Sylar grabbed at Peter's thigh to keep him close and in place.

XXX

"Oooh!" Peter groaned loudly, unabashed, hiking his leg up and putting his heel over Sylar's back, flexing into the hand that was gripping him. He angled his hips for maximum contact, grinding them together as he threw his head back and bared his throat, eyes shut. He quivered when Sylar's lips touched his exposed neck. Peter's hands roamed between the hanging folds of Sylar's shirt, stroking the bare skin over his ribs and contrasting it with the hair-covered patch over his pectorals. He brushed thumbs over nipples before moving on to touch either side of Sylar's neck with questing fingers as he arched into the man with another breathy moan. No more was he done with that then his fingers curled at the back of Sylar's neck, urging him down as Peter leaned up, latching his mouth onto his target.

XXX

The smaller man continued his seduction on Sylar's upper body with touches to his nipples and strokes over his hairy chest, causing Sylar to alternately buck and circle his dick down against Peter's crotch, feeling the matching erection there. He did his best to ignore that, even as it provided fantastic friction, instead focusing on  _whom_  he was humping. The idea of humping a man like this was still utterly foreign. Once again, Peter seemed very taken with Sylar's pleasure; it wasn't necessarily a requirement, but the guy did it anyway. The mouth at Sylar's throat felt like it was mauling him - suctioning his flesh and marking him surely. He extended his neck and tilted his head away for more, exhaling grunts and low moans (trying to keep his noise level down, unlike his failure earlier - Peter wanted quiet, so quiet he would get) and the occasional snarl, gripping high at Peter's hamstring, so close to that delectable ass.  _Ooh, God...fucking...God..._

XXX

Peter bit at him, far more reckless and passionate than he'd been with any other lover he could think of, not that his mind was on any of  _them_. No, Peter was very here in the moment, to the exclusion of everything else. Not a shred of thought of consequences, repercussions, things that had gone before or might after. His insides were one burning mess of shuddering emotions and mewling self-loathing that felt like they could only be put to rest by being fucked. He wanted to be violated; he wanted to be opened up and laid bare; he wanted to be hurt and degraded and ravished and used – and Sylar was the instrument of that.  _Fuck me, damnit!_  Sylar was too quiet for Peter's liking, which caused him to intensify his efforts.

XXX

Even as Sylar lost himself to the waves of frantic, pawing lust, something bothered him still, and it wasn't just that crude agreement to forget anything had happened, though it contributed. Sylar now had to consider what happened  _after_. Peter obviously wasn't thinking real well. It seemed too good to be true and with his mouth now free, he tried to think it through because there was bound to be consequences of doing anything at all with Peter Petrelli - the latest example was the agreement for silence. Sylar bent his head down to give brief attentions to Peter's long neck - wet, open-mouth kisses and dirty bites between taste-testing. It wasn't enough, but he was close to Peter's ear now, which he licked before murmuring around panted breaths, "Is this a test?" He didn't cease in the action, touching busily on the other side of the man's throat and face, hoping the answer was no; hoping the answer was true. He wanted to be in the clear to do what he wanted and have some semblance of normality in sex...with Peter.  _Are you going to call this rape after we're done?_  he wondered,  _Regret this, too?_ Desperately, Sylar needed to walk the line between wanted and being regretted and swept under the rug whenever it was convenient.

XXX

Peter jerked away with a tiny yelp from the lick at his ear, the overstimulation like a sudden slap in the middle of sex. Then there was Sylar's question, like the lick was to get his attention. "Uh … what?" _That … that's not sexy-talk. What's happening? Did I fuck something up? Am I doing something wrong?_


	8. Dates To Remember

_Shit_. Sylar grimaced to himself as Peter jerked. "Sorry," he mumbled, _I forgot._  Nathan knew his ears were ticklish. It was a stupid mistake, easily avoided if he'd been thinking but he had the sense not to mention that he knew the lick was a bad move.

XXX

Peter's breath started coming shallower as his insecurity spiked so high and fast that his hands shook. "What are we testing?" he asked, breathy and fast, wrapping his arms around Sylar's back, holding him close and not letting him go, while baring his neck even further for Sylar's continuing attentions. Those motions on Sylar's part were the only thing keeping Peter from plunging right back into upset.  _Maybe I misunderstood. It … it probably doesn't matter. Just misunderstood_. He put more focus into grinding against Sylar, scooting down a little and readjusting his angle. One leg was hooked over Sylar's back and held by the man's kneading hand; Peter's other leg was crooked behind the man with his foot on the mattress between Sylar's knees, giving him leverage. He brought a hand up to cup the back of Sylar's head, subconsciously still afraid that Sylar might try to get away and Peter had fucked everything up by doing something he didn't even know what but it might be terrible and-

XXX

 _O-kay...Not the answer I need..._ It was a simple enough question that Peter failed to grasp. Sylar noted Peter baring his neck even more and he took the invitation, kissing and tasting it while he could, wondering if he could even trust the emotionally-horned-up compromised answer he was going to get either way. He knew he should probably stop. Peter was unable, historically speaking, to handle emotional upset without immediate action. The answer was bound to be just as void as 'What are we testing?'  _But I don't want to stop. I finally have him. He feels so good..._ His cock was raging at him, crying out for more stimulation to be taken from Peter's flesh.

Sylar could only feel his own need pulsing through him, nearly carrying him away in more ways than one.  _He wants it! He's hard! What if...what if this is my only chance to fuck him and I turn it down? (You know his answer won't be solid). Damnit! (Don't be greedy. He just got you off! He was caring and polite-) And sexy as all hell,_  he argued with his own logic or something while munching on the subject's throat, humming to himself at the dilemma and temptation presented. Meanwhile his rotating pelvis began to slow, needing to calm himself down first to be able to think before acting. His cock continued to throb, pressed against Peter since he was lying on the guy.  _This_ **is**   _a test. To see if you can be the good guy. Or...to see if you can just be 'good.' He doesn't...have anyone else. (You break it, you buy it, you fix it. He needs fixing, not fucking). It's the same thing! Right now, anyway. I can take what I want - he can't stop me. (That's the point). Fuck._

That didn't abate Sylar's partly-dormant desire for revenge after that stupid agreement.  _Who does he think he is? He wants that then_ **he**   _cries? What the hell? Who is_ **he**   _to deny_ **me** _?_  Peter cried over his own stupidity and when he was vulnerable Sylar could use him, maybe fuck him if things worked out that way. He doubted it would. If Peter changed his mind about consenting he wasn't in any position to fight back. Peter was weak and helpless and Sylar was on top of him.  _Wait...how did that happen? He allowed that? How...Do I really want to force this? I know it's not worth it. One time over the chance to get this more than once? Contamination. Pressuring. That's what you're doing now, technically. (I hope I stopped...in time). He'd hold that against me forever and it would never be the same again. I'm just looking out for my own interests; his just...happen to coincide._

XXX

Sylar's slowing gyrations made Peter uncertain, feeding his insecurity that he'd screwed something up. He was trying to apologize, he was trying to bury himself in the moment rather than face what he'd done, what he was doing. It was crazy, half-baked, over-emotional – the idea that if he gave himself enough to Sylar right now, it would make up for whatever would come next. If Sylar didn't go along with that, if Peter wasn't good enough … Had he done something so wrong that even  _Sylar_  didn't want him?  _He's still kissing me, though …_  Peter ground himself up firmly, trying to match Sylar's decreasing pace. His hand dropped from Sylar's head to his collar, where both hands clenched uneasily in the fabric of the man's shirt.  _Am I not enough? What am I doing wrong?_

XXX

Sylar ceased his salivating on Peter's neck, instead switching to kissing gently at his temple for a start, running his hand continually through his hair. What was he to do now? Being the hero, the rock, someone's comfort, hadn't been his thing for some years now - he was out of practice.  _If...I was upset, I'd want something like this._ _Nathan used to kiss his forehead and hair sometimes - Peter kissed_ my  _face._   _Nathan would hug him, too._ Slowly, so-damn regretfully, Sylar peeled his hand away from clutching Peter's leg, slowly rubbing the length of it with a softer touch. He tried to slow things down to a standstill without looking in any way disinterested.  _If he thinks that, he's an idiot. I'm so hard...It's just a biological function. Ignore it, just ignore...Done this before, I'll do it again. (Yeah, but that never paid off before...) This has to come back in good karma. It just_ **has**   _to. My life - this situation - cannot be this fucked up. Look, Fate! I'm doing a good deed. Do not let this come back to bite me. Oh my God,_ he whined to himself, inhaling the scent of Peter's skin,  _My control is not what it used to be...I can't...say no to this, it's insane!_

Sylar wanted to grope and bite and rub himself off, just feel-touch-taste-use.  _But...if I'm nice to him...he'll...like me and want sex again? Well, I know he doesn't want_ **me**   _but...He liked me making a play room; I did that for him._ He tried to think of what else he had to offer, coming up with the usual limited options; sex was off the table until Peter could give a decent answer. Sylar refused to play the Petrelli blame game with sex and consent.

XXX

Peter made a grunting growl at Sylar lightening his touch on Peter's leg. Peter shifted restlessly, briefly bringing up his other leg to twine both around the man, Peter's thighs hugging Sylar's lean hips. It felt so good, but when that didn't elicit any particular approval, he dropped the leg back to its original position. Apparently they were toning things down rather than the breakneck rush to completion that Peter had been hurrying them to. Peter moved the hand that had gone to Sylar's collar back to his hair with a sigh. He relaxed a little, heart rate slowing as he faded from being on high alert. Peter wasn't getting quite enough stimulation to stay that wound up.

 _I'm acting ridiculous_ , Peter thought as his brain came back online.  _Running too high, too fragile, still upset. Fuck. I'm no good. What the fuck am I even doing? I'm holding_ _ **Sylar**_ _of all people!?_ Despite his desire to feel outraged, what he remembered instead was the taste of the man's lips, the feel of his flesh hot in Peter's hand, and then the painful wince on Sylar's face that had stilled Peter's tongue and derailed his … offer. Request, really, that Peter be allowed some escape from thinking about how much he had transgressed against what he held dear – morals, honor, codes of conduct, common decency ... As his emotions started crashing back down, heading past equilibrium and into depression, his breathing caught with a spasm that wanted to be a sob. He tried to cover it with a cough and clearing his throat, readjusting himself immediately so he was still holding the man tightly.  _I'm such a hypocrite. Everything he's always said about me – a weak, stupid hypocrite who hurts people_. Tears leaked out of his eyes and he desperately reached for something else to think about, losing himself as fast as possible in Sylar's warmth and solidity – so much more tangible and supportive than ephemeral principles.

XXX

Sylar hoped maybe Peter wouldn't even notice the shift in gears.  _I'm just taking it slow now, that's all. He'll calm down and..._ Sylar exhaled into the empath's hair.  _I guess I'll figure something out. Since when am I the responsible one? Big brother. Ugh. How...platonic._  "It's okay," he said in general, aloud, between pecks after all his internalizing, aiming to sooth.  _I guess I need one of those 'important conversations' after all._ Peter's hand on the back of his head, the other around his back, holding him as close as could be was a comfort for Sylar as well, unlooked for as it was, ensuring that he didn't feel that Peter would leap away from him any second. He swallowed and took a deep breath, willing his erection to fade at least for the time being, stroking a wide swath up Peter's side and hip chastely. "It's okay."  _I hope it is_.

XXX

Peter's chest spasmed again at Sylar's words.  _Okay, so he knows I'm completely messed up. Way to go, Peter. Even the guy who's wild to get in your pants can tell you're not right. No wonder he's backing off. Too clingy and moody and ..._  He took a deep breath, echoing Sylar's, and pulled his head up to press his forehead against Sylar's shoulder, trying to discreetly blot the moisture from his eyes on Sylar's shirt.  _He hasn't stopped, though, so I can't be too bad. What was that question he asked? A test? He thinks I'm testing him?_  Peter stopped holding Sylar so firmly and stroked his right hand up and down his back instead, feeling the smooth, very human expanse. His left hand bunched gently at Sylar's hair, feeling of it and just being in the moment – looking, feeling, being - as he got his bearings.

His hysteria passed. He was tired, with his emotional roller coaster having taken a lot of energy out of him, but the expected plunge had been buffered by having someone with him, holding him, catching him before he hit bottom. Peter appreciated that as he marveled at how Sylar had not taken what Peter had offered – sex on a platter, however Sylar wanted it. The willpower, empathy, or both that must have taken was not inconsiderable. That Sylar would do that for him forced Peter to reassess a lot of assumptions. He moved his hand up Sylar's back in a few more sedate sweeps before shifting himself a few inches to the side. He looked Sylar in the face, intent on understanding why they were lying together quietly instead of Sylar taking his opportunity to fuck Peter's brains out.

"I'm not testing you," he said softly, dropping his eyes briefly before coming back up. "At least not intentionally. I thought I was giving you what you wanted: me. I was being sincere, even if I was pretty upset." His eyes flitted down to Sylar's lips and then away, trying not to consider what those lips felt like. They were incredibly intimate to be having this conversation, but Peter didn't move except to add a few more slow strokes along Sylar's back. The hand that had been on the man's head slid down until his elbow was level, just as he eased his leg from where it was hooked over Sylar's ass so it was crooked next to his hip, Peter's foot on the mattress.

XXX

Sylar stared back at Peter, surprising himself with his patience, given the erection that was only now beginning to fade since they were exchanging words (not so sexy) instead of kisses (sexy).  _Uh...I do want you. That hasn't changed._ He allowed himself to be placated with positive strokes - no test; Peter was genuine. Sylar was calm, too, despite being worried earlier. He did his best to ignore the glances to his mouth. It would be so easy to arouse him to the blaze of passion again if he dwelt on the fact that  _Peter Petrelli_ kept staring at him, touching him and, apparently, thinking about kissing him. He reveled in Peter's continued contact, the back rubbing was delicious and soothing; it made his head feel fuzzy and weightless, similar to what it had been moments before, humping away at each other.  _I'm sure that will be really interesting when I think about the connection later. I've only had those feelings with...Elle; that's it._  And Sylar knew what he'd felt for her, during and after sex.

Sylar shifted down so his cock wasn't quite so pinched between his body weight and Peter's pelvis, hoping that would help the blood drain away even though it placed him nearer to Peter's ass...It also helped the eye contact because he was some inches taller than Peter. The conversation was going to kill his boner before nature did.  _Oh well._  It was definitely close to be talking but Peter liked to do that - be in people's space. Nathan grew up with it and so didn't notice, but Sylar did - it was odd for him, but not necessarily bad. If anything, Peter's hand on his back was keeping him relaxed and present.

XXX

"What I was trying to say earlier was that … this is really hard for me - what … what I think you're asking me to do here." Peter shut his eyes for a moment, willing away any resurgence of tears. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be with you after everything that's … that's happened." Peter was silent for a moment before adding, "Thank you for helping me, for not leaving. That would have messed me up even more – try to do what you wanted and then get dumped because I couldn't control my emotions." Peter swallowed, pursing his lips uneasily. It was the usual reason why he got dumped. Over-emoting was who he was. If Sylar intended to be with him, it was something they were going to have to deal with. But Sylar hadn't run off. He hadn't even stayed to take advantage of him. He'd stayed to comfort. "What is it that you want from me?"

XXX

 _I'm not asking you to do any- Wait._  Sylar quickly reviewed the event, the dialogue.  _Oh. I kind of am asking him to do something. That's...selfish. Crap. He didn't really want to before. Did I...make him do anything? (God, I hope not). I made him the room and he...picked a fight but then he...talked a lot and I had to work him up to it - shit! That's what he meant about this being my fantasy! (Is it?) Not now; he's talking._  Sylar felt a slight shock run through him.  _He doesn't know how to do this? I told him the rules and he still doesn't know? But that means...No. No way...A...relationship? That's what I think he means, 'be with you.' Oh, wow. I don't even know what to think about that. That's...unexpected. I hope he doesn't think_ **I** _know how to do this because I know even less than he does - I have no experience at all._

He impressed himself once more in actually considering what Peter meant in a few places.  _He's...trying to deal_ _with this but doesn't know how. So he isn't even focused on revenge. Huh. Weirdo,_  Sylar thought with affection and amusement, petting the back of Peter's neck, partly to extend the same courtesy as Peter rubbing his back, but also to touch and show a few things himself. His other hand made circles over Peter's side, wishing that the shirt between them was gone.  _That makes perfect sense, actually; he wants revenge but he doesn't at the same time?_ He merely nodded a 'you're welcome' while musing over that:  _I didn't plan it. I'm not that good (won't tell him that though. Ever. Yet. Maybe). He thought I was...turning him down? How? I agreed, didn't I?_  But Peter's rationale made sense, in an emotional way, which explained why it hadn't occurred to Sylar.  _Wait, he likes me around when he's upset? You're so weird! He's the opposite of everyone else, then. Usually I'm the cause of the upset and people want me gone._ Admittedly lost in thought, Sylar snapped to for the relevant question, his face a large, startled question mark.

 _Everything?_ was his instantaneous subconscious reply that he nearly blurted. Sylar swallowed and shifted uncomfortably for the first time.  _An odd question..._ "This. This is good," he replied vaguely - his answer meaning either the hand job and handcuffs or this pseudo mattress interruptus romp (or both). And it was true; either was fine with him because both were good for different reasons. He wasn't used to being played and brought off nor had he ever had a lover or a relationship; and someone reciprocating and interested was new.

XXX

Peter's voice got a little firmer. "That's not good enough. I need a real answer."

XXX

An eyebrow quirked at his prey below.  _Oh, he's real serious. He's good, too; he's onto me. While I'm on him - ha!_ Sylar's mouth worked at a kind of momentary pout before answering.  _What the hell. The worst he'll do is mock me and not give me what I'm barely getting right now, right? Assuming he believes me at all.._. "I want everything," he said simply, his face somewhat blank as a requirement for honesty, looking into the barrel of the gun that was Peter Petrelli's lovely hazel eyes. Sylar tried to keep his lust from leaking out, 'I want to fuck you right now.'  _Now can we get back to be rubbing my dick on you and you...doing all that great stuff again?_

XXX

Peter put on his thinking face – brows slightly drawn together, eyes intent and a little narrowed, lips pressed together.  _Everything? Everything as in 'everything you can give me, I want you totally'? That's kind of romantic. Is he romantic? Or does he mean everything as in 'everything I've mentioned and implied through this room and all our other interactions'? That's … I don't think I'm smart enough for that. That's like game-playing, like people thinking you don't really love them unless you show it in the exact way they want, by noticing little details and spending all your time obsessing over them. He could be like that. That could be what he means. Or maybe it's everything as in 'I'm a megalomaniac in the real world, Peter, and I quite literally want_ _ **everything**_ _'? Nah, I don't think so. Huh, wait. I am sort of the 'everything' that's here in this place. Because it's all either him or me here and he's already him. So if he got me, he'd have everything._

He puzzled over it, eyes drifting down to Sylar's thoroughly mauled collar as he thought. As often happened when faced with something difficult to think over, Peter's brain wanted to toss out the contemplation and go for action. With the intent of demanding a better answer, he looked up, lips parting for that short inhalation characteristic of being about to speak. But Sylar was doing the same thing.

XXX

Since the floor (or mattress rather) was somewhat open and the question had just been posed to him, Sylar hedged back, "What do you want from me?"  _Think he'll answer that? Probably a really obvious answer, I bet, knowing Peter. He always makes me feel like I missed a glaringly obvious step and I have to back-track and rethink everything. It's probably something...simple, too; like...basic. Ah, fuck. I don't know what he wants - I'll stop guessing. Be great to know, though - finally!_

XXX

Peter let out his breath.  _Well, uh … yeah. Kind of hard to pin him down on a question that undefined. How does_ _a person answer something that broad?_  He looked off to the side, letting his eyes slide out of focus. His fingers found the dip between Sylar's erector muscles, the valley made by his absently stroked back and forth laterally across a spot a few inches above Sylar's waist, mindlessly enjoying the opportunity to touch a part of Sylar he'd found fascinatingly sexy the few times he'd seen it. His gaze tracked back slowly as he processed what he was feeling and how much he liked that. "I want you to be nice. Safe … for me to be around."  _So I can touch you like this._  "I don't want you to hurt me. I don't like feeling like I have to be on my guard all the time and that I need to … overreact to you."  _Such as beating the crap out of you_. He drew his hand from behind Sylar's back, maneuvering it around Sylar's arm so that he could touch the man's face, skimming lightly over what would eventually be bruises.

XXX

Sylar was beginning to get the feeling that he needed to adjust his pre-lie detecting function because Peter had already said as much before - Sylar had just dismissed it. Manipulation, Petrelli, lying, using...Either Peter lied constantly or he barely lied at all and Sylar had no idea which seemed more probable.  _Why would he be honest with me? He can lie his ass off and- Does he think I know when he's lying because of Nathan's memories? Does that keep him honest? He might...be honest?_

He had to reevaluate things, definitely; they were looking up. He hadn't dared to hope, how could he, with Peter?  _He likes it when I'm nice. I'll need to know if that means...strung up for his amusement or making him a play room or...well, I don't know what 'nice' means for him. I could guess, but.._.Sylar hadn't known what to do when Peter didn't respond to his answer. Having his back felt up was practically a professional massage, every fingertip of Peter's almost a brand of sensation, directly hooked into his spinal column; electric. Having his face petted...thawed him a bit. Angela did that to Peter and Virginia had always done that to him if she felt lonely. And yes, Peter did that with Nathan, too, sometimes. Sylar coded that as affection, pure and simple. Caring, legitimate, familial affection. He felt his expression loosen from its somewhat blank state.  _You're going to melt me, Petrelli. Damned if I don't mind a bit._

XXX

Peter thought about what he wanted in a bigger sense, what his own 'everything' answer would be. It wouldn't be 'everything'. Peter didn't want everything or even much of it. He didn't have Sylar's hunger to have it all, be it all. No, Peter wanted different things – support, validation,  _respect_. He swallowed nervously and looked away, embarrassed to even think about asking for that. His hand returned to Sylar's back, holding him for comfort. He'd internalized all those canards about it being earned, not given – and that asking for respect was stupid and pointless. You either had it or you didn't. His father, and to a lesser extent Nathan, had been pretty firm that his overly dramatic, rebellious ways earned him the opposite. He was treated like a dysfunctional child who was too immature to play with the big boys and he knew his earlier weepy display gained him no points.  _But it's still what I_ _ **want.**_   _If he can't give that to me … I'd rather know. Besides, I'm not asking for it or saying I deserve it, I'm just … saying what I want._  "I want your respect," he whispered, ashamed to even be saying that much, still looking over Sylar's shoulder with his gaze fixed on where the walls met the ceiling. Unconsciously, his fingers clenched in the fabric of Sylar's shirt, tightening and hanging on.

XXX

Then Peter wouldn't look at him, obviously embarrassed over... _Really? Wanting respect? So does everyone, Peter. It rarely happens._  Some buried, rather dusty, grey-flavored morality twisted in him. _What makes him so special that he can ask for respect and I can't? That's unfair._ It took him a moment to force down the emotion behind that idea or conundrum because it wouldn't be answered today or probably in a day.  _What does respect have to do with sex, though? It means something to him - he's embarrassed about it. I'm missing something. How do you...give respect anyway? What happens if my way of showing respect doesn't work for him? Assuming I can show respect at all._ His attempts at showing awe (and jealousy) and respect usually came across as him having a crush, acting like an unshakable shadow or puppy that wouldn't leave the person alone. It was overkill. Or maybe the concept was just that fuzzy to him and needed clarification so it didn't get mixed in with other things.

XXX

Peter blinked a few times and shook it off, releasing his grip on the shirt as he looked back to Sylar. He firmed up his voice as though he'd said nothing of import and switched the topic back to Sylar. "'Everything' is too vague. I need some specifics. You did this room. Are you expecting … no, are you  _ **wanting**_  a … " He swallowed uneasily again, but not so much from being shy. It was just an awkward subject, something he'd never expected to discuss with Sylar. "A situation where we come in here on Sundays and Wednesdays and fuck each other into oblivion? And that's what it would be – just having an outlet? Or … are you wanting to … date?" Peter was hyper-focused on Sylar now, head dipped just a little and eyes not wavering from the man's face, trying to take in every reaction to that question.

XXX

 _Not really_ , Sylar thought about 'everything being too vague'.  _It's just not Peter-speak_. That amused him. He went still, at first listening then not moving became his reaction when Peter listed out the options - so black or white, no grey or mid-ground, not that he'd expected it. He'd expected either getting fucked whenever Peter was horny or nothing at all - the same old verbal viciousness and frustration between them. Getting fucked had obviously been the better option, but now...it was the lesser one? There was something better to be had? He didn't know what to say to that, rendered completely speechless for long seconds while his thoughts raced to produce words, stopping-and-starting, "D- you mean-? You and...? Bu-...um..." He straightened his elbows and his back, leaning away slightly in discomfort at being so close and on the spot, looking away above Peter's head now, licking his lips and swallowing down panic. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, feeling the pressure they were emitting into him.  _He said this isn't a test, so there...isn't a right answer? No right answer? Just...say what...Oh, boy, um...Dating a guy? Dating him?_

XXX

 _That is so cute,_ Peter thought of Sylar's reaction, tickled by it.  _Dude, you're lying on top of me and I'm pretty happy about it. Maybe not telegraphing it as obviously as earlier, but I'm certainly not pushing you away. We had sex and were about to do it again. Actually, I think it's pretty damn clear we're going to do it again. At some point. I'm just trying to figure out what it means to you._ Peter smiled.  _Seems to mean a lot._

XXX

Nervously, his voice a little strained from intensity, wanting to laugh and cry and vent anger and joy at the same time, Sylar asked, "Doesn't 'dating' mean there's other alternatives  _to_  date?"  _It's more of a choice rather than...you know, you stuck with someone you can barely stand? It's prison rules, does that make it real or not real? (I've never done this before, I don't know! Can he even feel that for me? Can I feel that for him? What happens if I can't feel things right?)_  "Is that even an option or is it like an example or...?"  _How can that be an option? Since when is it an option?! How long has it been that way? I'd have done things different if I'd have known that!_

XXX

Peter tilted his head, his hand making short, calming strokes on Sylar's side. "We have alternatives. It's an option. And it's an example. I'm trying to find out what you  _want_ so we can work towards that and I'm not having to guess so much. What dating means to me is that we're trying to see if we can have more of a relationship than, uh, otherwise." And given how obviously Sylar was reacting to this, Peter couldn't help but add, "You know, if that's what you want." That Peter hadn't had the fortune to be on the other end of someone acting so smitten towards him didn't mean he didn't recognize it. It made his chest feel funny, warm and tight. He knew his heart was speeding up – nerves and arousal, not a good combination, but he tried to keep it under wraps.

XXX

Peter misunderstood and it was Sylar's turn not to grasp the answer but other things were more important. "I mean, I..." Sylar glanced down at him.  _Boyfriend? His? Me? Sounds so weird. Feels weird, too. Jittery, butterflies - holy fuck, I have_ **butterflies** _. Butterflies! That answers it, I think. I'll screw it up, but I wa_ _nna try it. Wow, that'd be inc_ _redible._  Clearing his throat, steeling himself, he looked back to Peter who was still staring at him, intimidating. His voice was steadier now, considerably more convicted, "I like that second option."  _ **A lot.**_  He avoided saying the D-word aloud, he didn't feel that he could just yet.  _Oh, please don't be joking! Just don't punch me for saying that; I told the truth..._ Anxiety had his hand sneaking down then under Peter's shirt, but not too far, to stroke the skin of his hip.


	9. Virgin Territory

_Dating. Kay._  Despite the incredibly good vibes, the yawning lurch in his stomach, and the vague feeling of floating, Peter had not really been intending to imply, 'Okay then, we're going steady!' He'd been honestly asking, trying to figure out what level of emotional commitment Sylar was offering. It was so much bigger than Peter had expected … and seemed possibly bigger than Peter was able to match.  _We have so many issues … both of us._  Sylar was obviously taking just discussing the topic as though Peter was offering that. And it wasn't like he was  _not_  offering it, but Peter was afraid and uncertain of his own capacity. The enormity of the … responsibility this threw onto Peter intimidated him. What if he couldn't give Sylar a fair chance? (It wasn't like Sylar hadn't wasted plenty of those already. Why give him another, and in a way that would hit Peter so hard if it went bad?) What if he kept putting the man on trial for the past? (Because there was a lot of past to be on trial for and there was no question about the verdict, only the sentence.) What if he disappointed him and broke Sylar's heart? (Because … well, damnit, that actually mattered. A lot.)  _But … I said dating was 'trying'. That's what he agreed to. Can I agree to it? Can I try, sincerely? I … I think I can._

Sylar was staring at him with the same hyper-intent manner Peter had used on him moments before – and for the same reason. This whole evening had been Sylar putting himself on the line. Previously it had just been his body. Now he was offering his soul. Peter put his hand on Sylar's forearm and for a moment the other man froze, obviously thinking Peter was going to push him away or stay his hand from touching along his waist. Peter just stroked up and down, over the shirt sleeve. He curled his hand around Sylar's elbow, fingertips giving a few tiny nudges to encourage Sylar to continue. Peter didn't want to disappoint. "I'm going to try. Try to work something out. Us." Peter smiled nervously at Sylar's softening expression. "You're very sexy. I've thought you were for a really long time." If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been so tightly wound about everything. His fingers tightened along the back of Sylar's upper arm, a signal that drew Sylar to him for a kiss.

XXX

 _He wants to date me?_ Sylar was lost in his wonderment.  _I'm good enough; he likes me? I hope I can live up to that._  Sylar smiled, his brain probably drowning in an unfamiliar cocktail of endorphins and emotions, even more thrilling because he thought he'd never experience them. "So are you; very, very sexy,"  _But you knew that already._  He nodded briefly and took Peter up on another offer, leaning down to kiss the other man. That was all he wanted at the moment, his goals blissfully basic and straightforward - and  _available_.

XXX

Peter drew in his breath as their lips cushioned together. He opened his mouth somewhat, but not a lot. Gone was the desperate haste of earlier. It was like he was getting to know Sylar, and he was. His fingers curled playfully at the back of Sylar's neck, Peter's other hand moving to run slowly up and down his back. He kept his lower body still, not wanting to move this into more than just a kiss. His eyes were mostly, but not entirely, shut, enjoying the process with tiny, sighing moans and absorbing how the other man responded.

XXX

Sylar communicated his desire for his...partner through the kiss, or at least he tried to, still unfamiliar with how to go about doing that. He made a low hum in his throat and gave Peter something of a highly passionate, open-mouth-with-no-tongue, involved smooch that continued. It was fantastic, his for the taking. Peter was flexing his hands, parting his lips, touching Sylar's back, all signs of reciprocation as was the small sounds he made. The previous tension and emotion from earlier built in pressure until Sylar had to do something with it. His partner seemed willing enough, so Sylar shifted gears to be once more in groping and tasting territory. His hand made to slide up along the rippled muscles of Peter's abdomen, upwards towards his chest, simultaneously shifting his body up a little over Peter's to bring more of the other's mouth inside his.

XXX

"Uhn!" Peter groaned in response to Sylar's touches. He twisted his head away slightly, interrupting their lip lock, as his hand dropped to intercept Sylar's from being even more provocative under his shirt. "Sylar … hold on." He swallowed. "I want to talk a little more. I want to know what you're about to do. I know it's not all that sexy and spontaneous but we … we need to be careful with each other if this is going to work." He gave a quiet, nervous laugh. "You're not exactly tied up anymore, stud." Peter shifted slightly, very aware that he wasn't in the best position to argue about things, but he was certainly willing to if he had to. That was his point – they didn't know each other well enough in bed (or anywhere else) for something this emotionally laden to go off well without some discussion. Otherwise, you ended up with unexpected debacles like how the first bout had ended. Or the second, if you counted the brief frotting on the mattress.

XXX

Sylar paused, at first out of concern that he'd overstepped.  _'Hold on' isn't 'stop,'_  he reasoned; it was both good and bad. 'Hold on' implied a pause in the action, while 'stop' would have indicated an actual problem, possibly without continuation.  _Sexy and spontaneous? As opposed to planned? Peter, you're...funny_ , he thought the last with great humor and some exasperation. He was frustrated, sexually. Unlike Peter, he seemed to have been waiting and wanting this for a hell of a lot longer and now he had it he didn't want to wait. He had to, though, and he would be alright with it.  _Just a little more time; even if its tomorrow or next week...next month (God, I hope not!); I'll be okay. Blue balls haven't killed me yet. And he's so hot when he wants it..._ Sylar repositioned his body back down, keeping his hand where Peter had trapped it, against the man's ribs, rubbing there now. Partly testing the waters to see if that new touch would be permitted, maybe see if Peter was ticklish (Nathan didn't remember him being horribly so, on his ribs at least).

His opposite hand was still behind the back of Peter's neck, tangled in the long dark hair, as lush against his fingertips as the skin of Peter's ribs was. It was seriously giving him a contact high, what with Peter's legs still open around him, if not as overtly sexual as before. The comment about bondage was worrisome. Sylar frowned.  _Dating me but still worried about fucking me when I can touch back? I've been good so far, haven't I? Or..._ "Do you want me to move?" he asked, very aware of Peter's smaller body squirming to get comfortable. Or out of nervousness. Sylar didn't even want to offer to move - seeing that he hadn't asked until now.

XXX

"No," Peter said immediately, without even thinking about it. A little more slowly, he said, "I, um, yeah. Kind of like you there. Here. Don't … pull away." He raised his chin a little as well as his right knee, bringing it to half-mast along Sylar's hip – both signals of receptivity. Peter looked at Sylar's face, but the other man seemed unlikely to voice his expectations. Some things were really hard to put into words, he knew, so he did it himself. "Are we just going to kiss? Or make out really heavy with our clothes on? Or are we going to get some clothes off and take care of each other? Or to hell with the clothes and have sex – oral, anal, both? And who does what?" He made another uneasy chuckle.

XXX

He was blushing, he was almost certain, at the turn of questioning. Sylar hoped it was a minor flush instead of a full-on, beet-red affair. Heart beating faster, his body was unable to decide if it was turned on by the new topic or...what else, he wasn't sure. His eyes dropped and he found himself eying Peter's clavicle where it was left exposed from his shirt. Very much he wanted to kiss it but he knew he was avoiding the inquiries, good ones, all of them.  _Yeah, what_ **were**   _you thinking of doing?_ Communication was a whole new world with sex; he'd never needed one with the other before, which was a sad state to consider. He just  _ **did**_ ; and did what he wanted, at that. It was a habit he knew needed to be undone then re-written. "You know for a guy who throws himself off buildings at the drop of a hat, winning awards for impulsive action of the year, I'm surprised you're thinking this much," Sylar quipped.  _Cause I wasn't...For once._

XXX

Peter rubbed his thumb back and forth over Sylar's hand, a layer of shirt between them. "I think the latest award was for me stringing you up and jerking you off. I'm still, uh, kind of trying to figure out what to do next."

XXX

 _He's almost holding my hand like that.._. Sylar's chuckle nearly bubbled into laughter, a bit nervous and tension-relieving, but it felt good nonetheless.  _Jerking me off is similar to leaping off a building? On thinking about it, it probably was - for Peter, anyway._ In the recesses of his head, Sylar knew what he'd been going to do: take everything Peter might allow and try to make it good for him in return without putting his mouth or asshole anywhere near some things of Peter's he really wasn't sure about. "I don't know," he eventually admitted, emotion tingeing his voice with a frustrated, uncertain edge, for the most part kept under control. "I'm not used to...talking and...being asked all this," Sylar tried to explain.  _Getting to make choices and dealing with_ _what the other person wants. It's kind of stressful. Please don't make me say all that stuff aloud._

"Whatever works for you will be fine. So what, um, what do you want?"  _If you tell me that, I can answer better. Please? Assuming you want anything at all right now._

XXX

"I don't … usually talk it out like this with people either. But …"  _the stakes have never been so high._  "Earlier, I wanted to get a lot more involved, but I didn't know what you liked, so I just kept it to a hand job. I know you said I could do whatever I wanted, but …"  _Too many buts. Too much qualification What do I really want?_  "Listen, I want to have sex with someone who's wild for me, not someone who's letting me have my way with them." Peter looked into Sylar's eyes and over the man's face, aware that he, Peter, still hadn't answered the question the way he should.  _He's being so cooperative. Tells me I can do anything I want, lets me do it, tries to suck it up when I tell him I want to act like none of this ever happened, comes to comfort me when I'm upset, doesn't … take advantage of me, and I can tell he's trying to figure out how to tell me whatever I want to know. Can I trust him? Is this all an elaborate trick?_  Peter reached up and stroked Sylar's hair out of his so-expressive face, a face that was open and searching and earnest.  _It's not a trick. This is real: us. Probably the only thing here that's real._

 _Then tell him._  "I'm not hung up on any particular act, but I like fucking – getting fucked more than topping." He could not (and did not) stop a slight tensing of his buttocks that shifted his pelvis against Sylar's, with an accompanying small, pleased noise. Sylar looked like he was on the verge of responding to that when Peter went on, "I like oral, giving and receiving." He lifted his hand to stroke Sylar's cheek. He had a rapt audience, that much was clear as Sylar held still now to listen and allow Peter to keep talking. "I like a lot of touching, playing, holding …" His hand pulled a few inches away as his expression clouded. "I've been with guys who didn't like that, wanted just the sex and then to be done … with me for a while … and then it was back to being really good friends." Those relationships had been particularly painful because they were such a disconnect for how Peter's heart worked. "Wasn't, wasn't their fault, they just didn't want to be, um, affectionate." Peter swallowed uneasily. One of them was even still pretending he was straight – and Peter had learned that level of denial was something he couldn't deal with. It made it all the more painful when he'd tried to pull it on Sylar. "Which is why I was trying to ask before we did anything. I don't want to find out you can't stand having your hair pulled or you don't want me kissing you after you come or ..." He shrugged, letting his hand fall away as he pondered the list of potential turn-offs he could run afoul of in the middle of sex.

XXX

Sylar found himself pressing his face into Peter's hand as it pushed his hair away, wanting more of that and letting that want be obvious.  _Wow, he's really...tender_. Sylar couldn't help but gaze down at Peter as he took it in, trying to assimilate or notice any kind of inconsistency between presentation and words and finding none.  _He wants me eager? I get to participate. Oh, boy. That's- He's fantastic._ At first his eyebrows arched a little then he gulped as Peter watched him closely.  _He's onto me. I don't understand why he's doing all this for me. It's nicer than I thought; better than I ever thought I'd get from anyone, let alone him. I want to know now why he's doing it but it can wait. I don't deserve this. (He knows that). I don't have to fake it with him. (Try to...speak up, then. No one else is around to hear and he's gay and he can't tell anyone. I really don't think he'll judge me. Much. At least on the sex stuff)._

Another unconscious stress was lifted from his mind before a surge of territorial triumph swept over him because it mean he got to play with Peter's so-fine ass. Sylar probably looked ready to devour Peter given the teasing rubbing lower down but Peter desisted and he listened. Giving oral had not been a fun experience in the past but he could already tell this was completely different and he was grateful for that. Sylar knew he was very lucky. He kept touching on Peter's ribs, hoping to reciprocate equally or more than Peter was doing for him.  _If he's this touchy to me and he likes touching, he'll probably be thrilled if I touch him back - his face and neck and just...feel him up. When the time is right. Or even if it isn't! That would be heaven._  Still, the demonstration of Peter touching  _him_ wiped away any doubt he'd had about Peter liking or disliking being touched.

Sylar blinked.  _Mentioning exes in bed?_ An odd choice but it was a useful example, he supposed. It made him angry, surprisingly so given its intensity.  _Who would dare do that to Peter? Why on earth...?_ And he could hear and see Peter practically wincing at the mere mention of the experiences - more than one, goddamnit! Sylar knew from Nathan how much the kid had partied in college so his numbers had to be pretty high; Peter was still single (not dating Emma, another serious relief) so none of those relationships had worked out. None. That was pretty ridiculous to Sylar. Maybe New York wasn't a good dating area. It didn't matter right now.  _I wonder if he's lonely, too._

The hand on Peter's ribs slid behind his back, forcing its way under while the other in Peter's hair moved under his head to lift it against Sylar's shoulder, hugging Peter upwards against himself. Sylar's face was squeezed between his own forearm and Peter's neck and shoulder join, inhaling a scent that made him crazy. "That  _ **is**_  their fault, Peter," he assured and insisted in a firm, big-brother tone. _Absolutely, 100% their fault. And I'd make them pay if I could but I can't so I'll just...be better than that. It won't be difficult. (Who'd have thought I'd be the vengeful type when it came to exes? Why would he be with jerks like- like- Oh). I don't want 'just sex' either, but I kind of had to make it available for obvious reasons_ , he thought at Peter, but didn't voice it.  _I've never been allowed the opportunity to really...touch someone. Always, always wanted to, just..._

"You don't have to worry about that," he murmured below the man's ear.  _You don't know how happy that makes me._  "I'll..." what he wanted to say next required some distance, so he lay Peter back to the mattress, removing the hand under his back for comfort's sake, placing it at Peter's muscled bicep so he could stroke it. "I'll probably do it so much you'll be pushing me away," he admitted with a nervous attempt at a grin.  _Happens more often than not, I'm afraid. Gonna take a while to get used to being able to; it's been so long living in 'look, don't touch!'_

XXX

Peter was still for a moment when Sylar embraced him, not automatically sure where that was going.  _Just a hug. He feels … sympathy?_ Peter didn't want to argue about fault – he'd wanted more than most of his partners had had to give. He accepted the comfort in the spirit it was offered, putting his arms around the other man's back and tipping his head to the side, pressing it against the side of Sylar's, pleased and amazed at how loving Sylar was being. Peter snorted softly in derision at how preposterous it was that he would push away someone for showing him too much affection. He smiled back to match Sylar's grin, but Peter's was relaxed rather than nervous.

Sylar seemed to have taken well that he had vulnerabilities. An insensitive lover wasn't the only thing Peter didn't want to deal with in bed, so he took a deep breath and put it out there, trusting Sylar wouldn't read this as a laundry list of things to do. "I don't want you pulling on my hair or messing with my ears. Don't slap me. Don't spank me. Don't hit me at all. Don't do anything that draws blood. Don't try to scare me. Don't tie me up or make me helpless – we have too many issues between us still. I think I can handle being held down, though, if you're into that."

XXX

Of course the first thing that was addressed was hair and hair-pulling. Obviously playing with Peter's hair was okay. Nathan had done it and better still, Sylar had been doing it throughout their talk. He had little need to haul on the man's hair.  _Especially if he already likes giving head_ , he thought with glee. He was genuinely sorry about the ear-incident earlier and wondered if he should interrupt and say so (again), but Peter continued. Sylar pursed his lips.  _No spanking? Has he seen his ass? That counts as hitting to him? Interesting..._ That was good to know because it gave him a line not to cross. Or at least one to try his damnedest to avoid.

 _I can't help it if I scare him accidentally! I'm tied up and he's still afraid and I didn't do or say a single thing towards him. Maybe that just means...approach with caution when making a move? Or let him make the moves? Either way._  If Peter was the only one 'allowed' to initiate, Sylar would probably still be satisfied - Peter's libido would probably override all else now and he hoped it was a healthy appetite. Sylar nodded. He didn't like that he was being given a list – and it was a list of don'ts. Overall, that was probably an easy list to follow even if he resented the lack of freedom implied and amount of violence Peter felt the need to cover. If it hadn't been historically accurate, he would have been insulted. He still was a little bit, but it couldn't be helped. Clearly he hadn't specified violence in offering up his body; the rack of toys spoke for his assumptions.

XXX

Peter chuckled a little ruefully. "The thing I'm most nervous about is letting you make me feel good, and enjoying it. I know that's stupid. But ..." He shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds. "Please understand that I can't turn off my emotions … about everything. I'm going to try to stay in the moment. That's why I want to talk like this first – fewer surprises, easier for me to focus on you right now rather than you … other times."

XXX

Sylar frowned slightly, tilting his head in confusion.  _You didn't mind when I humped you; you seemed happy to respond. Must be an emotional - yeah, emotional thing._ "Funny, that's the one thing I want to do," he said of making Peter feel good, again, speaking honestly if a bit suggestively.  _I get the feeling you are so much fun when you're horny. Just give me a chance. I want to get you_ **off** _._

XXX

Peter took a deep breath and turned the subject out of the dangerous waters of their history, doing what he'd said and focusing on the moment. "What's going to turn you off in the middle of things that I might need to know about? Are you going to get upset if I call you … stud, or baby, or something like that? One guy I was with told me about another who didn't want anyone touching his balls. Just tell me if there are things that are off-limits. I want this to work." There was no going back to how things were. Peter had no idea if this was going to work out or not, but the alternative of open hostility, hurt feelings, and personal betrayal was far worse than their previous angry, unresolved sexual tension-filled, repressed co-existence. Sylar had really upped the stakes, big time, for both of them.

XXX

Once more that too-knowing stare focused on him. Sylar exhaled more anxious humor, "No, that's...probably okay." Truthfully, he didn't know. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around picturing Peter calling him stud or baby in the middle of things but it probably wouldn't turn him off. And he'd already noticed Peter calling him 'stud.'  _Might be hot, depending how he does it. I've don't think I've ever had a nice nickname that I liked before. 'Gabe' doesn't really count._  "Ha. No, balls are fine."  _Just don't hit 'em._

XXX

 _Two things – one, I'm stalling and we still haven't settled what we're doing; two, he's being really vague. There are two classes of people who are that unclear – the ones who are concealing their motives and the ones who don't know what they're doing._  Peter turned his head a little, glancing at the tables behind them.  _He's not concealing anything. It's literally all out on the table. That leaves …_ "Have you ever had sex with a man?" Peter's tone was aiming for 'I'm just going to get this out in the open, let's be honest here, I need to know this,' which was pretty much how he felt.

XXX

Almost on instinct, Sylar's 'Who me?' face plastered on. He felt himself choke on his own air, going still as a painting.  _How did he know? Was it that obvious?_  he self-criticized. That was one hell of a question. Sylar's eyes darted elsewhere while he frantically surveyed his options. On such a serious and direct question there were only two options. Truth or lie. He'd be called on his lie eventually, maybe in a few moments. Truth...Sylar had no reason not to tell it, other than embarrassment and male pride (even on this trend of topic). Peter wasn't interested in torturing him or using information as leverage or entertainment. Advertising his pseudo-virginity was still way more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be but if Peter was bottoming, the nurse would be just as vulnerable in theory.  _I've done other things with a guy, just not..._ **sex**   _sex._  His own reactionary tension was strangling him, his body tense and heavy; the stress was make-or-break just like the situation. He didn't dare see the look on Peter's face for this. Sylar shook his head. No vagueness, no words, even. No way his gesture could be misinterpreted either.

XXX

Peter thought about that. He'd been with two girls who were virgins and several guys who had not performed particular sex acts (had done oral, but not anal; or had given or received but not the converse). It had never mattered too much to Peter, but it underscored how serious and vulnerable Sylar must be right now and how much he was putting himself at Peter's mercy … for everything. That line about not retaliating meant so much more.  _Sylar … fuck,_ Peter thought with a flutter of nerves in his chest and a surge of life in his cock (because someone needing and trusting him this much was sexy as hell) _. He's giving himself to me. No reservations._ _Completely._ "Do you want to?" He stroked Sylar's side slowly to reassure.

XXX

Eventually, in the resulting silence, Sylar managed to glance down at his partner. The empath's face only spoke of internal thought. Sylar let his breath out slowly, feeling cooler, new oxygen in his body again.  _He didn't...say anything. God knows what he's thinking...probably re-thinking._  A pang of doubt:  _I won't be trouble. I learn quickly_ , but he shoved it aside, awaiting Peter's response for better or worse. He felt like a wind-up doll with how his worry was fluctuating - wind up...release...wind up...release. Sylar felt his joints go a little weak at the invitation, his throat dry as parchment despite his swallowing, a body-length wave of growing warmth not unlike a blush filling him as his penis engorged. Getting the green light to sleep with someone he liked; someone who wanted at least his participation in return would do that to you, apparently. His lungs communicated the heat of the room, perceived or otherwise, and the lack of air causing him to breath harder ( _Already?_ ). "May I?" Sylar couldn't help his purely predatory tone, deep and rumbling and rough as he eyed his potential mattress-mate.

XXX

Peter nodded, rising to kiss, putting his hand on Sylar's cheek to encourage him to stay where he wanted him. "Yes. That's … we can do that." Then he pulled Sylar into an embrace, evading the man's mouth and putting his head on Sylar's shoulder, holding them together for a moment and doing it tightly enough to dispel any image that he was being sensual. Far from it – he was scared by what he'd just agreed to.  _Jesus Christ. Am I okay with that? Am I_ _ **safe**_ _with this? He isn't going to know what he's doing. What if he goes too fast and hurts me? Am I okay with him inside of me, literally? I don't have to do this. He'd probably be happy enough with a blow job._

But Peter wanted it. He even hungered for it, for that moment of togetherness not achieved any other way. A blow job might result in just as much of an orgasm, but it didn't have the feeling that Peter was meeting Sylar halfway and taking any risk of his own. Peter already felt miserable about his earlier rejection of Sylar, trying to turn him away just like Peter had been turned away by others too many times. Anything less than going all the way wouldn't let him feel like he'd opened himself to his partner, extended trust and, hopefully, had it affirmed. Peter turned his head slightly so he was whispering near the man's ear. "Sylar, you're going to have to be really gentle with me." An inspiration hit him and he elaborated, "Like I'm one of those watches you work on. An antique clock. Something you can't find replacement parts for if you fuck it up. So you're going to go slow and make sure I'm okay with everything, alright? Can you do that?"  _Please? This is no time to surprise me with a torture-sex studio._


	10. Prep Work

Sylar returned the kiss, containing the impulse to press into Peter harder. He felt his axons firing lava-ice through his nerves, nearly trembling from desire.  _Oh, Jesus. I am not gonna last a minute._ He accepted the hug, enjoying the warm, firm, broad chest he lay on (even with the shirt on). He supported Peter's head against him, lightly feeling the man's hair as he did so. A jolt zinged down to his cock when Peter whispered in his ear, entirely intimate and seductive even if the words weren't.  _Oh_ , he thought simply, his brain silent for a moment to take it in;  _That's a really good analogy._ This was all very serious and he took it that way, ignoring even the part where Peter thought... _feared_  he would 'fuck it up'. He didn't appreciate the thought, begrudging it. It was their mutual reality nonetheless.

He started to nod, then desisted as it was disruptive. "Yes. I can do that, Peter." He couldn't think of anything else better to say or add, knowing what he was dealing with. With that in mind, he knew he needed to get control over his own arousal first thing. It had been a long while, but he succeeded in switching his mind from greedy self-absorption and pleasuring-seeking to putting his erection on hold (as much as was possible); enjoying a new experience, a new person - his  _ **date**_  - and making Peter feel incredible and comfortable. Patience was key. It would finally pay off, not today so much, but later.  _Crap. Does he give me instructions or do I...? He knows I don't know, so he'll...at least show me._

XXX

Peter lay back, looking up at Sylar for a long, still moment, studying his face as if he was memorizing the features. Maybe he was. He was letting himself see Sylar in a different light. Peter had walked into the room suspicious, a little afraid, and way more tense and closed off than he'd realized. Now he was dropping those defenses. Sylar looked uncertain. Peter reflected on what he'd said.  _Heh. Way to up to pressure on the guy, Peter. Hasn't done this before and you tell him if he fucks it up, it's all over? Yeah, smart move there._

He smiled a little and whispered softly, "It's going to be okay." He slid his hand under Sylar's shirt, up to the top of his chest, over his shoulder and behind his neck. Peter guided Sylar down for another slow, gentle kiss, feeling want and need and desire spiral up inside himself as he shed his inhibitions and let himself go in the moment. Peter's body arched into Sylar's as their lips moved against one another. The hand not cupping the back of Sylar's head wrapped around the man's back to hold them together as he raised his knee vertical, pressing against Sylar's hip with his thigh. Peter's eyes slid shut, breaths coming deeper as he opened his mouth and turned his head, tongue teasing along the edges of Sylar's teeth. He moaned when Sylar's tongue joined his in exploration.

XXX

Sylar was pretty sure he was trembling. Not a clue what to do and presented with the one thing - and person - he wanted most in the world. He wanted to please, to blow Peter's mind, but he knew realistically he should set his sights at a more average level, though the pressure was on to make it good for Peter. Sylar looked back, desperate not to squirm or do or say something to ruin the mood or whatever examination Peter was doubtlessly doing.  _Probably re-thinking it. He should, if he's smart. But he's smart and he's still doing this - how crazy is that? This is actually going to happen - like this, with him. I think he likes me. Does he know that I don't know what to do about that either? This is incredible!_

Check-in or inspection complete, Peter stroked over his body and Sylar felt his eyelids droop as he squirmed, appropriately, a little. He followed Peter's lead in kissing, for now. The empath's needs were...different than his own. Not bad, hardly; just different, mostly just new. Thinking 'going slow' meant a snail's pace all the way, Sylar had just settled in when Peter rubbed his body against him during the kiss, beginning to wrap around him with his legs as well. He grunted and hummed in approval, groaning a little bit when Peter finally let him taste.  _Uhh; tongue,_  was all he could think. He petted along Peter's bicep and shoulder, tasting Peter with small flicks of motion. They were quickly progressing to where they'd left off before. It was different, but it had the added aspect of liking and being liked in return - a whole new relationship open to them, changing the dynamic.

XXX

Peter kissed along Sylar's cheek, feeling Sylar do the same. He could sense the tension through Sylar's frame. It made Peter's fingers clench and release, upping his own arousal – he wanted to crawl on top of Sylar and do … well, something. Planning wasn't a strong suit. "Come here," Peter said huskily, prodding Sylar to move and rolling them so they faced, side to side. Peter exhaled, smiling cheeky delight at the position change. He'd liked being under him, but he liked this better at the moment.

XXX

Sylar moved as directed, at first a little confused. The shift didn't make much sense to him but it didn't bar him from much other than the use of his right arm, somewhat trapped under Peter's armpit, his hand on the man's back.  _It's a great back, too._ He could feel the muscles moving around even through the shirt. He was now laying more against the mattress where he hadn't been before, instead having lain on Peter, braced against his pelvis, really. It was kind of a crappy mattress. It had come with the room and Sylar, thinking they wouldn't be needing it, had flipped it on its side against the wall. Well, now they were using it. Not knowing if it mattered or not, being accustomed to the floor for sexual activity, he asked, "Do you want to find a better bed?"

XXX

"No," Peter replied shortly. "I like the room." To emphasize his point, he hiked his knee up over Sylar's hip, hooking it behind them and synching them together with a slight adjustment of position. He could feel Sylar's erection through his pants, pressing to his own. "Heh," Peter said happily, slipping his outer arm under Sylar's and around his back as Peter returned to kiss him again. He kissed softly, then pulled back to break for a second before kissing again, then repeating a third time. This time he made a growl of desire and kissed harder, longer, and fiercer, holding Sylar tight against him as his tongue probed inside and his hips ground up-and-forward, down-and-back.

XXX

 _You like the room? You're weird_ , he narrowed his eyes at his partner in amusement. Peter wiped his mind clean of humor and question when he aligned their organs. Sylar was beginning to feel Peter now; again, he ignored it for now. They were still clothed but they wouldn't be for long. Sylar was astounded at how much safer he felt already - he hadn't expected it to be so easy or attainable at all. It was a relief he hadn't been looking for but it felt like a pleasurable cramp, like his muscles had been massaged after running or something and the tension that built now had a cleaner baseline. Sylar's left arm was atop Peter's. At first he ran his fingers in the man's hair, combing it back away from his darling face, busily smooching away at his lips. The stop-start pattern was annoying, that Peter pattern of kissing was a learning curve, giving the impression that Peter very much wanted his participation and pleasure which made it more than alright. He did not go unsatisfied either. Sylar held the man's neck and opened his mouth wide to avidly lick about the inside of Peter's tempting mouth, at last getting the taste-test he wanted. He kept his mouth skin-tight to Peter, savoring the wet heat therein while the man's hips began to push against him. "Ughn," he rumbled in his chest, dropping his free hand down to clutch at the available thigh over his hip, eagerly assisting in the sexual rubbing.

His cock was once more hard and aching, a slower burn, no less intense. With his emotions almost completely out of his control, it may have been more intense this second round of humping. Each thrust against each other scraped denim against denim and denim against his cockhead and shaft, straining for every bit of friction and pressure. Sylar found himself too breathless to moan. His handsome target disengaged at the mouth to cover him everywhere else in kisses. The idea was pure eroticism, causing his cock to yearn for those kiss-swollen, stunningly pink lips on itself.  _God, he looks good._

Somewhat sweaty, somewhat sticky, a bit tear-stained and flushed, a mess of sex-teased hair swept back from his face, Peter looked like he'd already been fucked. Sylar couldn't help but feel masculine and desirous looking at that. He ground harder on the available pelvis, kissing back on Peter's face for a few moments before halting Peter's facial pecking. Pushing Peter's head away and back, he exposed a long neck, dipping down to lick it with long strokes, kissing it with puckered lips then nipping firmly from jaw down to the neckline of shirt. He would have continued but the fabric made for an unsexy mouthful, though he tugged at it to get at more flesh, attempting to continue down Peter's wonderful shoulders. By then, the nurse's cock was poking just as desperately into his hip; Sylar found himself very caught up in providing that much pleasure.

XXX

Peter parted from his lover, panting heavily, and jerked his shirt up. "Taking this off," he muttered unnecessarily, making a quick nod at Sylar. "Get yours, too." He flexed and wriggled, making a show and enjoying every second of it. He hoped he was being watched. He started to toss the shirt aside, then thought better of it and threw it on top of the towels Sylar had brought over. Peter took Sylar's shirt and put it over there as well, a vague intention of using them to prop him up later coming to mind. In the meantime, though, he scooted back closer to his partner, touching along Sylar's chest and watching the man's face. Peter thumbed a nipple once, twice, then a third time, tangling his legs with Sylar's.

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A low growl issued from Sylar's throat, partly at the separation (though he approved of the cause) and partly with the knowledge that his companion would soon lack a shirt. His own garment was shed in three precise motions, leaving him all the time in the world to watch Peter... _Wow, he has bulked up._  That was more than fantastic; the view made him ache still further: defined pecs and abdominals - Sylar could see the disappearing iliac muscles leading into Peter's pants, all of this covered in smooth, lightly olive skin, flexing fit and healthy. He shamelessly ogled. Peter's nipples appeared almost brown in comparison to his own rather pink pair, not that it mattered. The other man's were tight, tilted, oval buds and only today Sylar had found out how sensitive his own chest was to another's touch.  _Peter likes touch, he'll get his fair share._  His hand went to the nearest nipple, skimming it gently, watching the man's face carefully at first. Seeing no disagreement, he continued on to plucking and rubbing and barely twisting it, feeling his own chest being played. He breathed harder, making small noises as the treatment aroused him, very ready to penetrate and establish a firm rhythm inside.

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Peter arched with a pleased moan at Sylar's touches – he was delighted by the initiative and touching. He squirmed against Sylar's body, putting a few rotations into their grinding rather than straight thrusts. He grinned and leaned in for a quick, appreciative kiss before leaning back and looking down as his right hand took on a new project. He slowed, making his motions more deliberate as he went lower. The smooth, soft, yielding skin of Sylar's stomach passed under his fingers. He looked up and raised his brows slightly as if asking permission as his fingertips drew up against the waistband of the other man's pants. "Hm?" he hummed, dipping the very end of one finger under the fabric and running it up and then down, crossing the button in the center twice.

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Sylar found his eyes opening wider, a silly reaction given the circumstances, surprised nonetheless at the wandering hand. He bit his lip briefly, nodding as if Peter needed it, and gasping as Peter slid a finger under his pants again.  _Does he know how hot that is? I don't even care where he learned all this. He's really good._  Sylar was grateful that the other man had experience and seemed willing to share it with him. He gripped at the man's flank, not sure if groping at his ass would be interpreted as 'rushing' or impatience, otherwise stroking along the medic's back. He didn't know what else to do beyond letting Peter undo his pants - it seemed counter-intuitive, allowing the receiving partner to 'do the work for him.' Only now he began to feel his nerves returning as the contact dimmed slightly, the awareness that he had a role to play - an active one at that! - that he might be failing at.

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Peter leaned forward to kiss again, leaving his hands exactly where they were, the fingers of the hand at Sylar's pants curling around the waistband and tugging him closer. Lips moved hotly against one another until he pulled back again, looking down as his hand made quick work of the button. Mouth hanging partly open, he snuck a quick glance up at Sylar, then drew down the zipper. "Ohhh, yeah." He grinned, slipping a finger inside, stroking it up and down the velvety skin sheathing the hot, engorged organ. "Yeah, yeah." Eyes alight, he spread the zippered sides and slid his whole hand in to grip very, very lightly. "Mmm," he hummed, coming back in for a kiss, lips light and soft, delicate as the hold he kept on Sylar's cock.

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 _Kissing. Hmmmm, fuck, kissing. Yeah, that helps. That helps everything. Cure-all kissing with Nurse Petrelli. Oh, God.._.Sylar darted his hand along Peter's own waistband now, delighting in the heavy, moist kissing. They broke apart, Sylar more reluctant to look at his partner.  _Why would anyone not give you what you need when you offer yourself on this kind of a silver platter? Their loss; very much my gain._  Peter gave him a naughty look, poking a finger into his opened jeans before pulling out his inflamed erection, making greedy noises that had Sylar gasping, clinging more than he wanted to. "Uh...oh..." Peter barely had hold of him and he was practically gone already. He fought for the surface of his lust, driven to please Peter the same way - hopefully before the man made him pop even with the light hold he had. The memory of Peter begging him to come from the previous hand job worked hard to undermine his reasons for  _ **not**_  bursting right then and there.

Sylar leaned away slightly, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, gripping at the other man's shoulder briefly. Taking deep breaths, he opened his eyes and touched his way down Peter's lovely abdomen to the front of his pants. Sylar had to look around Peter's arm and his own penis to see what he was doing because opening someone else's pants was opposite of what he was used to (his own). He felt a spark of shame and anger that he didn't have more practice at this even, but it was hardly an important function. He saw a bulging pair of underwear before Peter's hand distracted him. "Oh, Jesus, stop that," he blurted breathlessly, grabbing hold of the nearest thing which was Peter's hipbone. He swallowed and recovered himself, blinking wide-eyed at Peter, hastening to clarify lest he sound pained or disinterested, "I won't last if you do that." Another nervous grin given, he kissed Peter in thanks anyway.

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Peter chuckled, deeply pleased that Sylar was so turned on. Also, that the man was willing to tell him what to do that worked or didn't work for him. He liked that Sylar had limits. He moved his hand to stroke Sylar's arm instead. Unlike Sylar, Peter was wearing underwear and it was going to take more maneuvering than he'd done for the shirt to strip. Since they were going to have to part for that anyway, Peter directed, "Go get that lube over there. And-"  _a condom._  But … there was no need. This was all in their heads and no reason to have a layer of latex between them. It had been a really long time since he'd had the pleasure of complete contact. Thrilled with that realization, Peter amended, "Just the lube."

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Sylar gave him a slightly questioning look, not arguing. He sure as hell didn't want to move or leave, but he stood and allowed his pants to drop to his ankles where he stepped out of them and threw them with the pile of clothes - Peter was making a nest over there for whatever reason. Having toed off his shoes and socks with the pants; he proceeded, naked, to the table for lube. Peter made no mention of a condom.  _Another sort-of odd choice. I'm clean, I assume he is. I guess it doesn't...matter as much when its just us._  Procuring it after a brief search (some of the items had been jostled during their fight), he carried it back to the sensation of his erection bobbing heavily at each step. It helped him with what would otherwise have been a prematurity problem...until he saw Peter shimmying out of his pants.  _Oh, there it is._  Somehow he kept his feet moving forward until he knelt between Peter's open legs, glancing between the bared cock and swelled cheeks under him and his partner's eyes and to be sure looking wasn't offensive. Through main force of will, he kept his hands away from his dick, though the urge to touch himself was strong in the face of such temptation. He gripped the lube bottle hard instead.

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Peter paused to watch Sylar walk away. Watching the bob and flex of those lean buttocks made him grin and briefly shiver. He kept ogling raptly as Sylar leaned over the table to reach for his goal, muscles in the man's back tensing and bunching. About then, Peter realized he needed to get undressed before Sylar got back and he hurried to do that. As Sylar approached, Peter splayed invitingly, his lower body dipping a bit when Sylar knelt on the mattress between his legs, eyes darting between Peter's face and over his displayed body. Peter flexed, glutes tensing to raise his ass an inch as his knees fell a little further to the side and his mouth opened. His cock twitched and he reached down to fondle himself idly under Sylar's observant eyes. A blush and gooseflesh announced just how much Peter liked being looked at.

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 _Oh, you dirty boy_ , Sylar thought with affection and desire. He looked his fill when Peter showed every sign of encouragement and interest in being watched - a good thing, too. His curiosity didn't abate on seeing Peter bare, far from it, instead it enflamed. He wanted to know everything there was to know about this wonderful body. Information, answers, experience was all on tap here and it was overwhelming how much was being offered; Sylar could drown in it easily. That it was attainable at all spoke of something far more loving than Sylar knew how to process.

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Such intense scrutiny could have easily become intimidating, but Sylar broke it by smiling sexily and murmuring, "God, you look good." He smoothed his hands up Peter's shins, leaning to kiss one knee. Peter made an approving noise, scooting a tiny bit closer. He shut his eyes and tugged himself slowly as Sylar explored him. The other man leaned over to run his hands from Peter's chest down his abdomen, over his hips and up his thighs.

Peter whined and shifted his hips back and forth. "I want you," Peter whispered hoarsely, looking at Sylar hungrily. He cast his eyes next to the towels and clothes, letting go of himself to pull those over. "We've got to lift me up a little." He raised his rear end off the mattress and stuffed towels and clothing under him, letting Sylar handle smoothing it out. When he was done, hands cupped his butt cheeks unexpectedly, Sylar shooting him a careful look that turned into a smile when Peter showed pleased acceptance. Sylar kneaded gently as Peter relaxed, settling down on his impromptu butt-pillow.

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Sylar made a growling sound at that, his instinct to snarl his appreciation, but he held off, at least the facial expression. More animalistic sounds filled his head.  _That's it, Peter,_  he thought, feeling exhilaration and delight bouncing off his very skin. It was confirmed - Peter  _wanted_  him. He'd now heard words he thought his ears would never truthfully witness. He calmed himself from what was sure to be a chokingly emotional reaction, unsure of what else to do with it or himself. _I want you, too, really bad._ He didn't understand the need to prop Peter up, not that he minded - it gave him better access. He could only marvel at these moments: Peter Petrelli, frightened and vulnerable (turned on), naked and wanting him, allowing him to touch and be with him, be inside him. Sylar had no frame of reference, it was too incredible. He wanted this again and again and they hadn't even finished yet. He determined to make it good;  _Somehow, I'll figure it out so you like this_ , he thought to Peter.


	11. Sexual Tension, Resolved

Sylar's brain was fuzzy with hormones and unnamed emotions, the haze of sex and newness, trying to recall what he'd liked when Peter had touched him before so he could make things enjoyable for him. Slowly he stroked his hands down the insides of Peter's thighs, rippling with muscle, not very hairy, aiming for the man's genitals. Finally,  _this_  was Peter Petrelli. His dick bumped against a shapely buttock as he brushed over Peter's balls, darker than his cock -  _I've got him by the balls_ , he thought as he cupped them. They didn't move much, held tight to Peter's body in their natural position it seemed, not tight solely because of arousal. He ran his palm flat over the orbs until his hand covered the other's erection. It was warm and stiff, covered in soft, malleable skin. Sylar squeezed it as Peter had done earlier to him, then moving the whole shaft about to look it over. Colored tan and pink, Peter was both long and thick. Sylar didn't know what to think about this part other than relief that it wasn't a monstrosity he would have to swallow or ride. Yes, he'd been a little worried about genetics, having  _been_  the man's brother for months.

Strange to think that there was a naked  _man_  awaiting his touch. It felt weird to be touching a cock whose nerves didn't attach to his own brain - the feeling of the organ was much the same; he only received feedback from his hand, though.

He touched at the head with his fingertips, feeling micro-soft, moist flesh.  _Hmmm..._ It brought Peter plenty of pleasure, obviously. That sparked many more ideas of how he could play with Peter. For now he gently ringed the organ and jerked it off, loving the control he was being given and the reactions he was getting. Grinning lecherously, he pumped harder, twisting his wrist a little to change the pressure pattern and contact points. Getting Peter off was  _hot_. He could foresee a very entertaining future just in handling Peter's body.

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Peter squirmed when Sylar touched his dick, looking vulnerable and uncertain, but definitely not stopping the man. He reached out to stroke Sylar's forearm with short, solicitous motions, Peter's other hand slightly gripping his own thigh. He was excited, tense, aroused, and exposed all at once, putting his pleasure and himself in someone else's hands, someone who had never done this with him before.

Trust. He found himself breathing faster, nerves spiraling up as he shut his eyes and let himself be stroked and manipulated. His mind started free-associating images of violence with Sylar, things that had really happened in their past – being choked at Kirby Plaza (head pounding, throat closed), punching the man in the hallway at Pinehearst (the smell of Sylar's blood on his hands contrasting with the sterile atmosphere of the place), crouching over him at Mercy Heights (feeling Sylar surge against him when he rammed another nail into the man's thigh). A sick feeling of apprehension built in his gut as he tensed and twitched a few times in sympathetic memory of the violence and pain, both received and inflicted. "Please," he whined, not sure what he was asking for.

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Sylar smirked and hummed at the verbal acknowledgment – the empath's desire and Sylar's control. He had the man in the palm of his hand, controlling him with mere fingers.

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Peter brought his feet in to touch the outsides of Sylar's folded legs where he knelt. It was like poison being drawn from a wound, to let this man whom he'd exchanged so much pain with bring him pleasure now. "Oh, please," he said again, an edge of genuine begging entering his voice. He felt jittery and tense and yet his cock was rock hard.

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Aware that he probably looked a little slutty himself, jacking Peter off so eagerly and not wanting to make Peter come (yet) for reasons he didn't really examine, Sylar dropped the dick and slid his hands back to a slightly more interesting part of Peter's body. He wrapped his hands around a pair of ass cheeks to die for, squeezing these gently as well, getting a feel for the muscle underneath, shifting even as Peter moved his legs.  _Wow, that's...Great ass._  He'd never been much for this part of the body - very likely to change in light of new evidence - but it wasn't as if he'd ever stared at one, felt one up, or had any kind of play with one. He wondered how it would feel around him - too tight or something like a vagina just without the wetness? Hell, he didn't even know how much control Peter had over...things down there during sex. He massaged and parted the globes, wishing for a better angle to do this.

Sylar gently thumbed down into the spread crevice, noting the state of male hairiness there - very little overall, but that wasn't what he was focused on. Very much he hoped this wasn't gross but he didn't think Peter would do it if it was. He touched over the wrinkled opening, checking in once more with a glance to Peter's face as he had many times throughout his explorations. It looked clean and normal, peeking open and closed slightly as he played with it causing him to swallow at the thought of fitting his hard-on into that apparently tiny space.

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When Sylar let go of his cock, Peter's hand took over instead, stroking lightly and more slowly than Sylar had. He was incredibly turned on, alternately looking away and at Sylar, keyed up to a fever pitch. That's why he didn't go to town with himself.  _Easy … easy … let him look. First time. Yeah. Let him look … oh, God, he's touching me …_ Peter fidgeted, squeezing the top of his dick a couple times and grunting before putting both hands on the back of his thighs. He couldn't stand it anymore and said, "Lube me up. Put your fingers in me, please."

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"Yeah, that's it," Sylar rumbled gruffly at being begged.  _This -_ **he**   _is easier than I thought._  Sylar popped the cap of the lubricant and spread the cool jelly over Peter's dick, palming the erection until it glistened all over.

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 _He's lubing my cock? What the hell? I thought_ _ **he**_ _was fucking_ _ **me**_ _. Is he going to get on top of me?_  Then Sylar started stroking it and Peter abandoned the questions immediately. He put his head back and moaned, moving his hips in time with Sylar's hand. Even though Sylar didn't stroke him very much after that, it felt fantastic.

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 _Geez, it looks like I've already sucked him..._ Strangely that, and the begging and squirming, had Sylar rubbing his cock on Peter's hamstring, once, twice, no more. He could get himself off with ease. Control was harder yet given the pressure building already, it was going to be one hell of a good orgasm when he got there. He didn't worry about that; had things been different, he might have. Sylar didn't wait, he pointed two fingers from the hand that had handled the lube and began to steadily push into Peter's asshole. He was careful about his fingernails and didn't rush, but he didn't give much time for adjustment, thinking that muscles needed to be forced and kept open, similar to a vagina when tensed. Like all muscles, it would eventually relax. The hole was tight, he could feel it trying to reject him, moving against him rather than spreading to welcome him in. Sylar stared at the juncture, watching his fingers disappear. This was filthy, forbidden in so many ways and it was making his dick ooze and twitch against Peter's leg, so close and ready.

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 _Ow, that hurts._  Peter shifted away an inch as soon as Sylar's fingers pushed into him – two fingers at once, straight, steady, and without teasing or preamble.  _Ow, dammit._  Irritation marred the moment. He tensed, and then made a determined effort to flex and open, an effort that his own body resisted. "Sylar, be gentle … just … hold on." He panted, managing to relax while Sylar held still for a moment, watching him intently. Peter licked his lips and wiggled his ass a little on Sylar's hand. "Okay. It's okay. I just … needed a moment. You can … please ..." Peter thrust back at Sylar a few times as Sylar got the message and started moving again.

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Sylar began a metronomic tempo seconds after burying his digits to the knuckle, in and out, tilting his hand up, down, side to side a bit to assist in opening Peter. It seemed to help with vaginas, so what worked there, probably worked here. In doing that, Peter jerked, lifting his hips onto his hand, gasping so prettily, looking kind of sweaty now with his eyes shut.  _Fuck!_ Sylar turned his head to mouth fiercely at Peter's raised knee near his face.  _Wanna bite you! Didn't say anything about biting!_ He repeated the maneuver, or tried to, with limited success.

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Peter's emotions were knotting him up. Hate that he'd felt for so long was bubbling to the surface. It was a bitter draught that had sapped his powers, confused his heart, and left him weak and envenomed. And now the focus of all that energy was pushing slick fingers inside of him. It made him tremble with the intensity. He wanted Sylar inside of him, desperately, as though instinctively knowing that would wash away the darkness, letting the one he'd hated and feared the most show him kindness and love. He gasped and squirmed on Sylar's fingers, his toes digging in under Sylar's shins as his knees started incrementally spreading apart. It was a clear, though mostly unconscious, indication of his receptivity, as much as the flush and light sweat that showed his arousal.

"More lube. There, on my ass, your hand …," Peter panted, putting his hand back to his greased up cock to start stroking gently again. He didn't know if he was making much sense. He didn't care much either, as long as it worked out.

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 _Erm...Okay._ Removing his fingers, Sylar followed the request. He slicked and replaced his fingers, intently watching the inward slide of parts of his body into Peter's. The opening accepted his digits more readily, looking wet around them now, too.  _Ah! Okay._ He felt his cock lightly rubbing against his partner, slowly stimulating him.

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"Oh God, Sylar … I want you in me. I want you. Hold me, kiss me, fuck me …  _Please_." There was so much pressure built up inside of him and he wanted it gone. He wanted to be plowed and filled – by Sylar! - so that it was irrevocable, done, settled, finalized, released. He wanted to be fucked so hard he couldn't think, so that the images still troubling his brain of Sylar hitting him, sneering at him, Ted Sprague's opened skull, flying locker doors … so those memories would stop. So that the judgmental, imagined voices of Nathan, his mother, his father, Claire, anyone, would be silenced. So his guilt would be lost in a sea of fulfillment. He wanted it over so that he could stop being dragged down by the miseries of the past and instead, make a better future.

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Sylar grunted, removing his fingers to crawl over Peter, nipping the man's chest on his way up. "My pleasure," he replied around heavy breathing, his voice rough.  _That's right. You know what I want_. He laved his tongue over Peter's neck once more, kissing and rubbing his bristled face there as he guided his cock in.

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Peter brought his knees up as Sylar climbed up him, tilting his hips and angling his body to ease entry.  _Did he lube himself?_  He hadn't been paying attention. Peter reached down between them with the hand that had been on his own slicked organ, wiping it off across his ass cheeks as he felt Sylar moving into position. He got his hand out of the way and gave it a last wipe on an edge of towel sticking out from under him before wrapping both arms around the other man. He put his heels on the small of Sylar's back and arched as he felt the pressure build against the right spot. He bore down and tried to open, finding Sylar's ear and murmuring, "Go slow, Sylar, please."

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Sylar nodded, though he probably should have vocalized his reply. It took a moment, the opening wasn't so obvious to his dick or his hands without sight, but Sylar eventually poked the right spot, feeling give, breathing harder then holding his breath, then breathing again. He was aching, hard and hot, his hips primed to thrust and keep thrusting.

Sylar felt his tip pop inside and he groaned and panted, lifting himself off Peter to better get inside.  _Yes! This is it! Get inside! Get inside him! Fuck!_  Sylar held himself up and pushed himself in, a long, smooth stroke, feeling the heat of putting his dick inside another body, feeling it wrap around him, snug and welcoming - the man himself begging and inviting him. He closed his eyes briefly, taking it in.

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"Ahh!" Peter groaned, making a choked sound at getting it all at once, realizing that 'go slow' wasn't specific enough to communicate 'do it in stages and let me adjust between them'. Compared to active fucking, Sylar's penetration of him  _had_  been slow. He shut his eyes, too, shaking a little with a whine deep in his throat as he submitted and took it.  _First time, first time, first time,_  he found himself repeating inside his head as he put himself at Sylar's mercy.

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His hand ran out of room, so Sylar squeezed Peter's ass cheek, pulling it away from its partner until he could seat himself fully with a small moan. Sylar threw his head back to snarl at the ceiling, finally claiming this man, being on top and inside and in control. The body he lay on was definitely different from a woman's – for one thing, Peter's dick was poking his stomach. When he looked down, first at their joining, what little he could see of it (most he saw Peter's cock and balls), and then he gazed at Peter's face. He saw grimaces of discomfort, petting the man's face and hair to try to sooth, his own hair in his face as he held still for the moment - partly for Peter's sake, partly for his own arousal.

It was practically a religious experience, fucking a saint like this. The gorgeous specimen below him looked positively orgasmic, eyes blown wide, lids drooping, mouth open, panting hard, face flushed and sweaty.  _You beautiful little slut. Look at you...Fucked out on my dick and I haven't even started moving yet._  Sylar pressed down the faulty left side of Peter's lower lip before giving it a messy, completely possessive kiss, hardly moving his finger. Licking into Peter's mouth, uncaring if he got a response, he lingered there to breathe a moment, pulling back with both heads, feeling the drag of Peter's asshole on the way out. He waited until he had Peter's attention before pushing back in, more gently than he wanted - the thrust making his breath catch anyway as he passed by every available inch of Peter's insides.  _How fast can I go? How hard? When? Who's giving the orders now, Peter, huh? I could fuck you up from here...but I won't._

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 _Oh God, oh God, oh God,_  Peter mentally chanted, clinging and feeling his body adjust to having a full length inside of him and Sylar – _Sylar!_ \- so close over him and inside him. It was a man who'd killed him more than once, murdered Nathan and dozens of others … and Peter was letting the guy have a trial run with his body. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to this point, not that it mattered. He was shivering hard, finding himself impossibly keyed up with desire, fear, and guilt, creating a cocktail of anxiety so intense that he felt stunned. He whimpered when Sylar petted him, pushing his face into the hand and looking up at him with an entirely sex-dazed expression. He met the kiss with complete submission, tingling like he might come immediately. He arched again, but there wasn't quite enough stimulation at the right spots. "More lube. Lots of it. Just get ridiculous with it." As Sylar went to pull back, Peter bit his shoulder on impulse – a hard nip that would leave a bruise, but Peter found he just didn't care. Pain was part of the program.

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Any mental protest he had was obliterated by the bite.  _Fucking...delicious_. Peter couldn't know what that did to him, but he wanted to pound Peter into immobility and then some (not that he'd last that long). It made him want to utterly use the pretty body before him. He growled, sucking hard at Peter's collarbone, hoping to make a mark himself. Pulling out, he covered himself in lube, finding Peter's entrance faster than before and plunging in with a groan.  _Oh...Oh, wow. God..._

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As Sylar sank back inside of him, slipping in easily now, Peter undulated his body under the man, bringing up one hand to tangle in his hair. He pulled him down for a kiss, feeling Sylar moving inside of him. "Fuck me, hard as you want now." Remembering vaguely what Sylar had told him when he'd first come in the room, he added huskily, "Give it to me." Peter braced himself, one hand on the back of Sylar's neck and the other helping hold up one of his knees. His legs cinched around Sylar's waist, tightening and releasing to push him into the thrusts.

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The empath came alive under him. It was wonderful that he wasn't passive - ha, not after that bite! Sylar felt himself yanked down to Peter's face to kiss. It half-startled him, eyes wide for a moment until they slid shut with pleasure at the touch of Peter's lips, Peter's hands woven into his hair. He lay on Peter, covering him fully, sliding against their combined sweat. Sylar rested his cheek against Peter's, mouthing and breathing against his jaw. He heard permission and went for it without question, "Oh, yeah," he agreed, lifting up a little. Eyes met and held for a small eternity, brown and hazel locking souls as they were about to be in body. It was powerful, knowing the mind that lay behind those eyes, knowing that it held desire for him.

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Peter met Sylar's eyes, falling into their depths and feeling hypnotized by them. Peripherally, he took in Sylar's other features – brows, nose, lips, the way his hair fell around his face and framed it. Stunningly handsome, but it was the history and the person Peter knew behind that appearance that made the biggest impact. To have someone who had hurt him so unforgivably and so deeply being kind to him, considerate, bringing him pleasure … it boggled his mind and made it impossible to think. That was okay. He'd always been better at feeling anyway.

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Planting elbows, hands and knees, Sylar surged his whole body forward until he could go no further, slapping rudely into Peter as he did, buried balls deep. It felt like fucking destiny alright. Pulling back only as far as nature pushed him, he repeated the bodily thrust, once, twice, three times, expending too much energy and a few grunts, not getting enough of what he wanted. His hand ran from Peter's face to his chest, ending up somewhere around his ribs, holding him there and touching him at the same time. Peter's legs around him were counterpoint to each thrust, offering leverage; a tangible weight of a lover around him.

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"Oh, God," Peter groaned. Sylar was fucking him  _hard_ , jarring his insides, realigning his feelings and erasing the past, or at least overwriting it. It felt  _good_. It felt good and it felt right, like he was being broken inside and put back together correctly. Every forceful shove and violent thrust was a blow against the walls Peter had erected around his heart. All of the emotions swirling around inside of him were lighting him on fire. He gave in to it completely – to Sylar, to his body's desires, to the situation – and took pleasure of it. He let himself feel ecstasy. He let himself feel overwhelmed. He let it be okay. "Ooh!" he moaned as Sylar's pumping took on a more frantic pace, drawing mewls and whimpers from him with every shove inside him.

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His hips took a straight-line course, jack-hammering himself as hard as he could into Peter and loving every minute of it. He wasn't thinking; he barely felt, it was too much, it practically hurt but he was driven to continue and finish them both. There was no way he could stop. Sylar struggled for air, feeling it burning up within his lungs. He could hear Peter's pleasure. Whatever he was doing must be working great and if it worked, more must be better.

He humped Peter full of his cock again and again, blissed out on such a wonderful, willing partner whom he was miraculously pleasing - a competition he'd won, a prize he'd received, more than he could have ever anticipated. He was right and this was good; he felt like an animal. He was ravaging Peter Petrelli's body and the man was moaning about it, holding him close, accepting it. He couldn't get Peter onto his dick fast enough, his arousal far ahead of him, needing a pace he couldn't physically provide himself or Peter. The asshole around him was perfection, tight and soft, wet with lube, rubbing along his heavy length just right. The head of his dick was more sensitive then he'd ever experienced. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" he voiced with each glorious thrust, willing himself to hold on somehow yet having little desire to do it. He stared at the man he was fucking, projecting possession and lust as he watched for signs of submission, approval, and desire reciprocated.

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Peter was about to go; brows drawn together and mouth open for desperate gasps of air. Sylar pulled back to look at him – Peter was completely his, drowning in their combined desire, feeling it pulling him under like the strongest of undertows. He reached between them to squeeze the tip of his cock, rubbing his thumb over it with rough pressure, back and forth, with each swipe and painful pinch  _almost_ being enough to send him over. Frantic for one last intimacy, he pulled Sylar back to him for another deep, passionate kiss that he had to break from almost immediately, his body tensing and locking, mouth hanging open and his eyes rolling back in his head as his peak hit. Sylar's scent was heavy in his nostrils, the man's taste on his tongue, the abrasive scratch of chest hair against Peter's, the feel of Sylar's damp hair against his face … and above all, the knowledge that Sylar wanted him, wanted him badly enough to be good to him, gentle, passionate, obedient, maybe even caring. Come pulsed over his fingers as Sylar continued to hammer his hole, rocking his whole body and making the room spin. Peter clenched and shuddered, breath coming in gasps as he sucked in the lust-drenched atmosphere between them. The fear, the guilt, and the tension fell away as one, leaving him wrung out, limp, and empty of the darker emotions that plagued him with Sylar – only the light remained. Eyes wide and body entirely relaxed, he stared at Sylar, drinking in the man's face and imprinting it on his brain as a lover rather than an enemy.

XXX

Sylar moaned loudly at being manhandled for a mere kiss, the dichotomy thrilling him and he responded as enthusiastically as was possible. He felt uncoordinated and sloppy, but Peter didn't seem to be much better. He went with it, licking and kissing lazily over the man's mouth and face, wherever he could touch as their rhythm allowed. Through the bestial claiming he laid into Peter, he suddenly felt a few sharp clenches around his swollen member. Sylar's back arched then he looked down at his partner in slight question. With every constriction, his breathing stopped and restarted with an expulsion of air, "Oh!" He didn't know what was going on but he knew he wouldn't outlast this, feeling a deep, warm throb from his groin. It was so quick, rushing over him, he was weak and lost, being pulled ever inwards. He glanced up and away for control that fled him, his face twisted into a pained frown as he cried out, releasing himself into Peter. Hips on drunken autopilot, they raggedly thrust him inside precious few times more. Discord and foreplay led to sweet consummation. He began to feel his muscles protesting his pace, feeling colder and relaxed, buzzing and so alive. He shut dizzy, unseeing eyes against the attack of endorphins to his system, recovering his breath and sanity, prolonging his calm and the moment.

XXX

When Sylar began to wind down and settle on him, pulling out and separating, Peter shoved him to the side and immediately burrowed against the man's body, forehead to his chest, one arm wormed under his to wrap around his back. His leg was slung over Sylar's hip, but not placed so high as before – it wasn't sexual, it was just close. Peter repeated the burrowing motion with his head and shoulders, eyes shut, breathing in his new lover's essence. "Hold me," he said, half a pleading whimper, half an order. He panted anxiously until Sylar's arms firmed around him, then eased rapidly. "Don't leave me. Don't fuck me over. Please don't let this be for nothing. Don't make fun of me tomorrow. Be okay with me."

XXX

Too slowly, Sylar jerked at being pushed away, his reactions dulled and his mind unable to comprehend the distance or the act behind it. But Peter followed him; once more they lay side by side. Sylar managed sluggishly get his the lower left arm under Peter's neck so the man's head could partly rest on the bicep, also so Sylar could touch his head and back this way. He was doing this as Peter spoke, glad he'd done so. He pulled the smaller, warm body against him, stroking Peter's back with long motions. Sylar didn't know if Peter had come or not; he assumed so. He would check soon, but...later.

He breathed out, ruffling Peter's hair, breathing in to smell him with Sylar's chin resting against his forehead, fondling Peter's plastered hair (already swept away from his face) back repeatedly, toying with it. He noticed he couldn't see clearly, the hot haze of something in his eyes and the tickle of something wet on his nose and temple. He was relieved Peter couldn't see that, freaked out by what that could mean because he himself didn't know. "No, no, no..." he whispered to soothe until he had to clear his throat. He felt crushing pain from his chest and head that Peter had given him that and still feared retaliation of any sort, especially the kind that sounded horrible, truly diabolically cruel even to Sylar. There wasn't anything he could do to mend the past or be deserving of the gift he'd received. Peter couldn't have hit him harder with the fact that he'd done so much wrong - not that he needed assistance coming to that conclusion as he had to swipe at his eyes. He didn't have the guts to hurt Peter now, the idea made him feel sick.  _I'm so grateful; I hope you understand._ "Thank you. For everything, Peter, for letting me stay."


	12. Cleansing the Palate

Peter relaxed, easing into Sylar's arms, getting used to the idea that he could see this man, this person, as something other than an enemy. He still had issues with Sylar's past he needed to deal with, but they were smaller and more distant than they had been. No more did they consume him. Sylar's display of what looked a lot like love had mortally wounded the image of him as a monster.  _Is it love? Or is it just lust?_  Peter mulled the questions over in his mind, unfettered by tension, not so emotionally compromised as before. Sylar continued to pet him gently, proving out that this was no mere base drive the man wanted satisfied. Or maybe it was, if you counted a desire to give and receive love as basic to the human condition. The point was that Sylar hadn't gotten his rocks off and then lost interest. "You're welcome," Peter said lazily, straightening and uncurling his body, sore from the exertions, both fighting and fucking.

Sylar made a happy sound and immediately switched the focus of his attentions from stroking and hugging to giving wet, open-mouthed kisses down his cheek, tasting him with each one. It reminded Peter of the kisses babies gave – sloppy and damp - except that Sylar was tonguing along his skin more purposefully. Peter made a pleased sigh despite the weird smooching, languidly fondling Sylar's hair in post-coital bliss. He shuddered and his hand clenched in the man's hair when Sylar ran the tip of his tongue from the join of Peter's collarbone up over his Adam's apple. Sylar rumbled out a chuckle and set his teeth over Peter's throat, applying only the smallest pressure. A thumb stroked over his nipple and Peter jerked, reaching over with his free hand to push Sylar's shoulder a little. "No. Not yet."

Sylar drew back, giving him an unreadable expression. "See? I told you it wouldn't be long until you were pushing me away."

Peter snorted and let the hand from Sylar's hair travel down the man's arm. "There's a big difference between being blacklisted from the club and having to wait a few hours while they set up the next act."

Sylar's face shifted then, warming up to hopeful with a dash of pleased. "What time does the next act start?"

"I've already gone twice today. Give me a couple hours and we'll see. How about you? You up for round three already?"

Sylar looked down insecurely, then away. Peter stroked up and down the man's arm slowly, looking at him unwaveringly, enjoying the feeling of Sylar's hairs under his fingers. Finally, without looking at him, Sylar said, "I want to touch you."

"That's okay. I'd like that. Don't try to turn me on and we're good."

Sylar ran a hand down the side of Peter's chest, pointedly avoiding the nipple this time – he'd do anything to maximize how much he was allowed to touch and caress, despite how tempting Peter looked when aroused. Sylar's hand crossed over the short ribs and down to the waist. As he leaned, his penis shifted against his leg. It was sticky; he didn't like that. He sat up abruptly, reaching over for one of the towels and using it to wipe himself off. When he felt sufficiently cleaned, he looked over at Peter's groin.  _He must be the same way, even worse though because I greased him front and back. No telling where else it got smeared._

He hiked up Peter's leg unceremoniously, glancing up at the man's grunt. They locked eyes for a moment – Peter looking … concerned and Sylar looking uncertain. The uncertainty faded when Peter didn't object and Sylar looked down between the man's legs. He reached in with the towel and began to scrub off excess lubricant from Peter's thighs, cleaning with firm, short strokes. Peter grunted again; Sylar ignored it.  _Stop complaining. I'm helping you out here._

After a few moments, Sylar started to lean to get to where he wanted. Peter tugged his leg out of Sylar's grip and swung it slowly over the man, putting Sylar between his legs. Sylar looked at the new position, thrilled by the casual sexuality of Peter putting Sylar between his legs, a small, honest smile appearing on his face.  _He's really okay with me being here, touching him, opening for me._

He drew in a breath as Peter sprawled back, eyes mostly shut, and Sylar continued wiping and cleaning. Peter didn't have much hair on his body, which was convenient.  _'Easy to clean! Easy to look after! The care and feeding of your new pet Petrelli!'_ He smiled slightly at his thoughts.  _How's it even possible for people – men – to be this hairless?_  He'd always dismissed people on television or movies because they must have a legion of stylists and make-up artists to sculpt their body for them. But Peter was real and genuine and natural – no horde of personal assistants – only Sylar, who bent to the task with care and appreciation for being allowed it. He wiped the seam between groin and thigh on one side and then the other. After a long glance at Peter, who seemed to have his eyes entirely shut now, he took the man's penis between thumb and two fingers, lifting it. It was his first time to touch it while limp like this. It was spongy and mostly drained at the moment. Peter tensed at the contact – Sylar had expected that – but didn't object. He made short, gentle strokes with the towel, although the main problem was the tackiness of the mostly-dried lube. Peter eased back down, trusting him.

The manipulations had another effect, which was Peter's flaccid penis oozing a drop of seminal fluid, the body's own natural lubricant for sperm. Sylar looked at that for a moment. A furtive glance showed Peter was still doing his 'I'm asleep/you can do whatever you want' act. Sylar adjusted his grip on the towel and moved his hand so his finger swiped off most of the thick liquid, the towel following close thereafter. Peter squirmed a little as the head was more sensitive than the rest. Sylar kept his head down and made faux dabs at Peter's balls until the other man relaxed. Another quick look – Peter's eyes remained shut. Sylar looked at the substance on his finger and lifted it to smell.

It didn't have much of an odor, especially considering the heavy and intoxicating scent of sex and sweat already permeating the air around the two of them. Sylar gave Peter one last nervous look and stuck the fingertip in his mouth, deliberately sweeping it over his tongue and sucking it clean. He hesitated, frozen in place as his face took on an unpleasant grimace – more at the idea than the taste. It wasn't awful. It was a body fluid, a mucous, and the flavor had a lot in common with those from other sources. It didn't taste bad per se, though he could easily imagine it that way. On the face of it, it simply had a taste and whether that was repellant or acceptable was mostly what a person made of it. "Hm," he hummed, working it around in his mouth.

Peter opened his eyes at the vocalization and rubbed the sole of one foot up and down Sylar's leg. He appreciated everything he was getting – the cleaning was a quick leap forward in the relationship to taking care of one another. There'd been many a partner who wouldn't do that much for him even if he asked, yet Sylar had done it as a matter of course.  _Maybe he doesn't know how rare that level of politeness, even empathy, is._ Sylar dropped the towel to the side, swallowed, and crawled up over Peter's body to kiss his lips. Peter skimmed his hands up and down Sylar's sides as their tongues slowly explored one another's mouths. Peter welcomed him in, recognizing that it was insecurity bringing the man to him, seeking reassurance in the permission to kiss. He also didn't miss the possessiveness involved in climbing on top of him to do it, but he didn't mind. Sylar finally leaned away, shifting to return to his previous position at Peter's side.

Peter's nearer hand followed him, ending up resting on Sylar's knee. "See? I'm not pushing you away at all." Sylar smiled softly and leaned in for another kiss.

 


	13. Quite A Handful

"Keep the handcuffs," Sylar said as they finished cleaning up the room and putting things to right. "I want to use those again."

"You liked that?" Peter asked, slipping them into his back pocket. He hadn't been sure, given that he hadn't asked Sylar's permission. The whole thing was still surreal. The way they'd lived for years now had been turned on its ear, a wall between them smashed down in a single hour. Peter wasn't so sure about how open that left him. With that wall gone, where were the new boundaries?

"Whatever trips your trigger, Peter, is something I like."

Peter snorted, fishing out the key to make sure he still had it. He did. Replacing it, he turned to Sylar. New boundary number one was making sure Sylar understood where he ended and Peter began. This whole thing had started with some pretty weird assertions on Sylar's part about who was responsible for what was happening. It wasn't like Peter had woke up this morning expecting to have sex with Sylar; though apparently Sylar had woke up with the expectation of getting laid. Or killed. Or maybe both. Peter asked, "Tell me you liked what we just did."

Sylar gave him a wary look, but cooperated. "I … liked it."

"Okay," Peter said. That was the gimme-question. Next was the harder one. "Now tell me this room was your idea."

Sylar straightened, head up in a stance Peter had previously thought of as a display of arrogance. Now he saw it as nerves. "You  _clearly_  wanted it."

 _Ah-hah. About what I expected._  A small smile played across Peter's lips at Sylar's evasion. "I wasn't talking about  _me_. I need you to take some responsibility for your actions."

Sylar paled, stiffening now, breaths coming shallower.

 _Crap!_  Peter thought, seeing the reaction but not knowing what was causing it.  _Is he that sensitive about this? What is that, passive aggressive, projecting? There's a name for what he's doing. It's something like that._  He needed Sylar to admit what he'd done, and although Peter had meant only here, with the room and the sex, now that Sylar was balking, the issue ballooned to encompass all sorts of actions in Sylar's past.  _Is that his problem all along, for everything? Can't own up to what he's done?_

"The only crime that happened here was one of passion, Petrelli," Sylar said, voice dropping to a growl as the beginnings of a snarl formed on his face.

Peter shook his head, rolling his eyes. He was feeling too good to fight and it looked like trying to untangle Sylar's issues would be as difficult as working out his own. They'd have plenty of time for it later. "Fine, whatever. Come on." He walked out, pausing briefly at the door, recalling his own interrupted attempt to tell Sylar that what happened inside the room was different from the rest of this world. He'd intended to say that if Sylar let him pretend this hadn't happened, then Peter would be willing to come back. He hadn't gotten that far though before Sylar's response derailed Peter's attempt to quarantine his complicated emotions.

 _Now, though …_ He fingered the door frame, glancing back to see if Sylar was coming. He was, the anger fading from his face as he fell in line. Peter glanced down.  _There's no 'here' where it's okay to be on fucking terms with Sylar and 'everywhere else' where it isn't. It's everywhere we are_. He sighed and headed out, trying to decide what to do about Sylar heaping all the responsibility for this on his shoulders.  _It's not right. How do I get that through to him? What he did isn't even a bad thing,_ Peter mused. He was lost in thought as they exited to the street. Peter's steps turned automatically towards the destination he'd mentioned when they were cleaning the room – the YMCA. It had showers and a hot tub, both of which Peter wanted at the moment.

The silence was quick to wear on Sylar's nerves. He was not happy with wishy-washy, flip-floppy Peter. First, everything was wonderful, happiness, and light, then Peter wanted to grill him about whose idea it was? Now the intimacy was turned off and he wanted it back, immediately. It bothered him that Peter got to dictate that. Sometimes it felt like Peter was in complete control of _everything_  here. That wasn't a bad thing, as long as Sylar was getting his way, but at the moment he wasn't getting anything.

They hadn't touched since getting dressed – even though that was only a few handfuls of minutes ago, trying to blame him for the room, the 'whatever', and Peter ignoring him now was eating at him. He walked abreast of Peter, pacing out the distance to their objective. Besides walking, a lot of nothing seemed to be happening. Peter was either ignoring him, was lost in thought, or both, and it was rude no matter which.  _Well, taking things into my own hands earlier seemed to pan out._ He changed his course, each stride bringing them closer together, carefully adjusting his steps to match those of the shorter man. If Peter noticed, he didn't respond, but his physical bubble was more like a film, anyway. The back of Sylar's hand brushed Peter's and  _now_ Peter responded, stepping over to the side to be further away.

 _Damn it!_ That was not what Sylar wanted. And what did it mean, anyway? Peter didn't even glance over. He just gave space and kept going, like he didn't detect or wouldn't acknowledge there was anything else behind the touch.  _Fuck him._  Sylar walked along, fuming about how Peter was acting and worrying that he wasn't doing what Peter wanted.  _Why is this all on me to figure out? Why can't he show me what I'm supposed to be doing? He's done this before! He should know! If I'm doing this wrong, it's all his fault._  Determined to get a clear rejection or acceptance, Sylar tried again.

Another stride brought him close, as Sylar didn't bother with the gradual approach this time. Nor did he try to play it cool. He reached out quickly and grabbed Peter's hand aggressively. Peter jerked it away, giving him a look of mingled surprise and distaste. There was enough 'what the fuck are you doing?' in the look to give Sylar his answer.  _Well, if that didn't put me in my place …_  He slowed and slunk away, putting most of the sidewalk between them as depression crashed down. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched.  _So that's how it is. Funny, that was what Peter said he didn't like about those other guys he was with – okay to fuck, but not okay to be with after._  Peter was slowing down, too, and glancing over at him. Every look made Sylar tuck his face down more, trying to avoid his eyes.

"What the hell was that?" Peter tried asking.

Sylar made no answer. His face tensed and blanked and he suddenly found the other side of the street worth looking at.  _'What the hell was that?'_  he thought blackly in a mocking mental tone.  _Not even worthy to touch him anymore. He wants to deny any of that happened. He'll get horny again though and then I'll be-_  A hand took his wrist and Sylar stopped immediately, head whipping around to face Peter, stiffening and rearing back in expectation of an attack. But Peter just tugged Sylar's hand out of the pocket and put their hands together, looking at Sylar with an open, patient expression.

Sylar relaxed a tiny fraction, enough to look down at Peter's hand resting against his.  _What is he doing? Why …?_  He looked up at Peter's face, distrustful but hoping, and slowly curled his fingers around Peter's. Sylar adjusted his grip a little, their hands sliding into classic hand-holding position.

A smile bloomed on Peter's face. "Hey, yeah," Peter said softly. "This is okay." Peter swallowed and added, "It's going to take me a little while to get used to this. That's … that's just part of the package with me, Sylar." He squeezed Sylar's hand.

Sylar smiled back, brittle and fragile.  _He's as broken as I am. How am I supposed to deal with his issues, too? I can't even handle my own!_  Peter tilted his head in the direction they'd been walking, giving a slight pull on Sylar's hand as he turned back towards their goal. They walked along slowly, hands clasped between them.


	14. He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not

Sylar very much did not know what to do with himself. Take charge? Back off? Go slow? Be indifferent? Because that's how Peter seemed to be – indifferent. Or at least he wasn't giving the constant direction Sylar needed. Sylar dithered outside the showers, standing beside his pile of clothing and feeling himself vacillate between desperate, clingy neediness and angry, aloof sullenness. Intellectually, he kept trying to remind himself that Peter had warned him he wasn't stable. And it wasn't like this was all that different from normal - things between Peter and him had been like this for years, but now it was sharper, made more acute by the taste he'd been given today (well, more than a taste if he was honest, but his hunger was endless, for this especially).

He'd expected more – hugging, loving, something – when they got undressed, but had received nothing. Instead, Peter had disrobed quickly and hustled into one of the family-sized stalls, leaving Sylar still tugging off his socks. He seethed quietly, the only thing keeping him from stalking out of the place was the half open curtain of the stall Peter had gone into. Tantalizing glimpses of his body became visible as he moved around. Sylar dropped the socks onto the rest of his clothes. It was an invitation, he finally decided, a non-verbal signal that he was not being shut out. But an invitation to what?

He eased in after the other man, whose light tan skin was wet and glistening in the falling water. It was a fantastic view and one his eyes took in greedily, head to toe. One good thing about his nervousness was that he wasn't erect. Nor was Peter, he saw. Peter was dripping and delicious-looking, slightly turned away from him, eyes shut and with his face directly in the shower spray as his hands scrubbed over himself. Sylar touched Peter with three fingertips on the side, hopefully a non-threatening contact. Peter side-stepped just like he had on the sidewalk and this time Sylar didn't automatically take it as rejection.

 _Maybe … it's the opposite? Maybe it's him making room for me?_ Sylar matched Peter, withdrawing to 'his' side of the big shower, availing himself of soft soap from a wall dispenser and washing. _Maybe I should just take care of my business?_  Peter wiped hair out of his face, glancing over at Sylar a few times before continuing with his ablutions.  _He's not telling me to get lost,_  Sylar thought, salving his ego.  _He's not telling me much of anything, but at least he's not telling me that._  He was pleased to notice Peter was scrupulous about cleaning every nook and cranny. They didn't have washcloths and it probably wasn't the most aggressive soap, but Sylar was still glad to see that hygiene was well adhered to. He hoped to get another chance to use that incredible body.

Then it occurred to him that he might be called upon to do the same – to be spread for fingers or cock, required to pass a close inspection and no telling when. He'd been soaping himself slowly, lost in admiring the view if he were honest. Watching Peter spread and fondle himself, hands and fingers brushing over his private parts with casual familiarity, was fascinating. With a start, he began seeing to himself in earnest, realizing he needed to be ready in case their roles were reversed. Much as he was uncertain and apprehensive about taking that position, he knew he'd do whatever Peter required. Best to be clean if it happened. Peter, finished, glanced back at him again, gave a small smile, and exited. It was only after Peter was gone that it also occurred to him that perhaps he should have offered to wash Peter.  _Is that normal or just something they do in movies? And what do you do when there's no sponge or cloth? It would have at least let me touch him again. But he moved away when I did that …_  Sylar growled in frustration, finished, rinsed, and walked out.

It felt more than a little weird to saunter through the huge, vacant facility nearly naked. Only the towel wrapped around his waist separated him from the view of the rest of the world, empty though it was. He found Peter right where the man had indicated he would be, slouched in the hot tub up to his neck. His eyes were shut and remained that way as Sylar padded over to where the tub was sunk into the floor. Peter's closed lids weren't what Sylar wanted – he wanted to be looked at and at least welcomed. But Peter had held his hand, let Sylar fuck him, smiled at him many times and been very genuine. That had to count for something. He dropped the towel to the side next to Peter's and clambered in far less gracefully than he would have liked, feeling like he was too large and ungainly by far.

Sylar sank in, finding the bench along the edge, and sat. Alone. On his side. Looking across at Peter, who still had his eyes shut. Sylar frowned, but he had to admit the swirling, slightly foaming, hot water felt nice, especially the jets set into the side behind him, gently pummeling his back muscles. Deciding to match Peter by enjoying the bath instead of continuing to pine after the touch of the man across from him, he leaned into the pressure from the jets, stretching his legs out in front of himself. Inadvertently, he bumped Peter's foot, and jerked his own into unclaimed space. Peter grunted and Peter's foot followed Sylar's to brush up against it on purpose. Sylar's lips tightened, eyes focused on Peter's unchanged face as he tried to figure that out. He left his foot exactly where it was, feeling Peter's stroke slowly along the outside of his ankle, then back down.

Sylar's face softened.  _He's touching me! He's touching me! It's okay; he still wants to touch me._  He drew in a deep breath, feeling his cock twitch to wakefulness in the warm water. He shifted, wriggling into a better position, wondering where this stealth-footsie was going to lead. Seconds passed while Peter slipped his foot up and down Sylar's shin and foot, one side then the other.  _Do I do something in return? Or just let him do this? Maybe I should just let him lead … don't want to spook him … in case he's trying to pretend to himself he's not really doing this._  Peter's eyes remained shut, but in a few minutes, Sylar had a nudge and a shift that prompted him to move back where he'd put his feet originally, which as it happened was between Peter's somewhat splayed feet.

Peter adjusted himself a little, feet brushing and lightly bumping the sides of Sylar's ankles before settling into stroking him. The big toes on each of Peter's feet rubbed and scraped up and down the outside of his shins, both at the same time in a slow oscillation. Sylar watched Peter's face, noticing how Peter's lips parted when he brought both feet to bear, the faint flush, and the relaxation around the corners of his eyes.  _Oh. Oh, yeah. He's liking this. Is he imagining someone else? Does it matter?_ Sylar's cock apparently didn't care. It was filling rapidly, every small sign of Peter's interest swelling it further. He could hardly believe his day – rough but sexual play, definite sex with him even being allowed on top, and now being felt up in a hot tub. The toes along his legs were spurring him on. He reached down to move himself, pulling his balls forward and feeling that his penis had stiffened into full erectness. As if he knew, Peter smiled and made a purring sound.

 _Oh God, he really loves the slow tease, doesn't he?_ Sylar leaned his head back against the hard rim of the tub, looking upward and letting himself be helplessly aroused. Peter shifted enough to reach his toes around to the back of Sylar's knees, touching and scratching along the more sensitive skin there. Sylar bit off a whimper, putting both hands on his thighs, fingers digging in.  _I could get used to this. Please let me have the opportunity to get used to this._

The slight splash of the motion finally prompted Peter to open his eyes. "You jerking yourself off?" he asked in a deep, husky voice.

 _Oh yeah, he wants me. This is foreplay. Jesus Christ, does he always take forever to get to the good stuff? Not that I mind …_ It was just different than Sylar had expected. Sex with Peter was no hurried rush to completion, that was for sure. It shocked him to discover that Peter made love like Sylar restored timepieces – meticulous, careful, attentive, and totally engaged in the process. To answer the man's question, though, Sylar snarked, "No. That's your job." He lifted his head and stared at Peter lustfully, moving his own feet finally to do the same thing to Peter – stroking the back of his knees with his toes – that Peter had done to him.

The effect was immediate and very gratifying. Peter laughed, squirmed, flushed, jerked his legs away, and then brought them back for a quick flurry of playful touches and strokes that reminded Sylar of how Peter had responded when he'd asked him what he liked. It was that same laugh, too – silly, relaxed, and spontaneous.  _He's … interested. I think that's his 'I'm interested in you' laugh. I've only ever heard that twice now, in all the years of being here with him, in all of Nathan's memories of him – I've never heard that until these two times. Huh._  Sylar smiled, a surge of innocent happiness going through him at having something Nathan had never had of Peter.

"My job, huh?" Peter said, pushing off from his side and easing across the gap between them. It was a slow approach, his eyes boring into Sylar's and Sylar knew that the slightest wrong move really would scare him off. He let his hands fall to his sides, wishing fervently that he knew what Peter intended. Peter was straddling him, thighs brushing the outside of Sylar's knees and legs. Peter glanced down, his hands finding Sylar's biceps and exploring them for a moment before looking back to Sylar, who smiled hopefully. Apparently it was the right response, because Peter brought his knees up on the bench, on either side of Sylar's hips. Sylar lifted his hands and cupped Peter's knees, rolling his palms around them as Peter shifted his weight back, his buttocks over Sylar's thighs now.

They looked at one another, less than an arm's length apart, studying features and expressions. "Don't look at me," Peter said abruptly. Sylar pulled his head back a fraction, eyes widening a little before he snapped them down and to the side. Peter's fingers touched his biceps anxiously.  _I would have thought he was the one who didn't want to see_ _ **me**_ _. He doesn't mind seeing me … but he doesn't want me looking at_ _ **him**_ _._ Sylar shut his eyes, hoping this wasn't about to be followed by Peter jury-rigging the towels into another blindfold.  _At least I was able to look at him while I fucked him. That was nice._  Eyes closed, he could feel Peter move in closer, one hand cupping his shoulder and the other climbing to the back of his neck.

Peter's shifting weight and the angle of his hands told Sylar the other man was moving close, hopefully to kiss him. Sylar lifted his face, licking and parting his lips in anticipation, thrilled when he was proven right by the feeling of Peter's mouth brushing against his own. His cock throbbed in approval as Peter pressed in more firmly, sliding closer until his knees were against the back of the hot tub and Sylar's hands slid up Peter's legs to rest at his hips. A moment later, Sylar felt something bump against his dick even though Peter's hands were still on his shoulder and the other now cradling the back of his head as they kissed. His eyes opened on instinct. Peter's were heavy-lidded, face relaxed, totally absorbed by the osculation.  _What the hell was that? Wait, there it is again! Is that his … dick?_ A quick mental review of the geometry of their position assured him that was the only likely candidate. He slid his eyes shut again with a throaty chuckle.

Peter drew back and began his start/stop/start method of kissing. Sylar's fingers traced Peter's hip bones, rubbing into the flesh as a means of keeping his hands from grabbing Peter's head and holding their faces together.  _More teasing. Oh God, Peter … tease me. Please tease me._ And all the while, every few seconds he could feel the warm contact of Peter's dick against his own. The hand on Sylar's shoulder slid down his arm, leaving at the wrist to move between them, the back of Peter's fingers skimming along his abdomen. "Ah," Sylar grunted out, eyes opening briefly again.

Peter was so close in his face, breath hot against his skin. A long lock of hair, looking black from being wet, had come loose and hung across the man's face, reaching halfway down his cheek. His mouth was open, lids only slightly parted. He looked like a picture of passion and Sylar shivered a little to know it was all directed at him. He tilted his head and extended his tongue to lick at that dangling hair, sucking the delicious moisture from it as he leaned his head back until the end slipped from between his lips. He caught the movement of Peter's eyes and shut his own, putting his head forward in invitation for a kiss. It was granted, mouths sliding against one another as Peter's questing hand found his cock, fingers touching along it tantalizingly.

"Oh yes. Yes," he purred when Peter's mouth roamed off to the side, kissing along his cheek now. 'Resigned' was not the right word for how Sylar felt about the gradual tempo. Now that he saw it as Peter's pattern, he was molding himself to it, anticipating it, hoping for it, eager and offering himself up for it. Peter's method made it last longer, he realized, and it wasn't like it didn't include the possibility of conquering and fucking – what Sylar wanted most. This, Sylar suspected, all this foreplay was Peter making a promise that Sylar would get what he wanted. That was amazing – that this wasn't just one-sided. He shuddered, shoving his hips forward a little to bring them more into contact.

Peter's hand wrapped around him in the swirling water, pumping him slowly, then just palming him. Wanting more, Sylar whined, sliding one hand behind Peter's back, wondering if it would be possible for Peter to ride him here in the tub. Even though he knew he was probably going faster than Peter wanted, he opened his eyes and asked, "Do you want to get on me?"

"On your dick?"

 _No, Peter, on my head. What did you think I meant?_  "Yeah."

Peter shook his head. "No lube."

"Water's a lubricant."

Peter snorted and leaned in to give him a brief smooch. "We need to talk later. After I finish with my 'job'." He followed that with a nip to Sylar's chin that made him jump and tighten, then growl slightly as he tilted his head back, baring his neck and begging for Peter to keep that up. Peter chewed and sucked his way down Sylar's stubbled throat, pulling gasps and then mewls from Sylar as he put both hands around Peter now, holding him close as Peter's hand began to pump again.

He'd barely done that but Peter took one of his hands (his right, just as Peter was using his right to masturbate him) and put it between them, rolling his hips a little to slide his dick against him. Sylar got the idea, taking Peter, erect, in hand. He wished he could see what he was doing, or Peter's face, but at the moment he was submitting to Peter mauling him. He wasn't about to interrupt that. He curled his fingers around the phallus, feeling it hot, hard, and alive in his hand. It was such a delicate part, so sensitive, he knew. He pulled up and down in slow strokes. Peter bit him, hard, just above the collarbone, and Sylar's hand clenched.

"Ah, yeah," Peter murmured against him. "Yeah, that's it. Harder. Fuck me."

Sylar had a moment of hesitation.  _Fuck you? I'm … but you said … what?_ He tightened his grip and tugged harder. Peter matched him with the hand on Sylar's shaft. "Oh, oh!"  _Yeah, okay, I get the message. Whatever you say, maybe it doesn't make sense. You just want more. You're closer than I thought._  Encouraged by that, Sylar asked for something he wanted, "Bite me?"

Peter snarled with lust and attacked him with his teeth, hips grinding opposite Sylar's motions so that he was fucking into his hand as much as Sylar was jerking him off. Peter's own hand was firm and skilled on Sylar's cock, sending shudders through him, delighting him with the rising swell of his climax. The biting, claiming, brutal kisses at his neck were running all through him, making him twitch and shift, his legs pulling up with all the stimulation, toes curling. Peter changed position suddenly, grabbing the edge of the tub with one hand while he pulled up, moved his legs, and crossed them behind Sylar's back. "More!" he urged as he sat in Sylar's lap, taking his mouth in a possessive, impassioned kiss.

Sylar whined, trying to find his rhythm again with short, hard jerks. Peter's hand on his dick moved, too, taking Sylar's and trying to reposition him somehow. "Both of us … hold both of us." Sylar's fingers were longer and more able to get their shafts together. Peter gripped the other side, thrusting back and forth, cocks rubbing together in the most exquisite ecstasy. "Oh … I'm almost ..." Peter trembled. Sylar's other hand, on the small of his back, felt the shivers coming from deep inside the man. He watched Peter's face, wanting to commit to memory the expression Peter wore when Sylar got him off. That, too, belonged to Sylar now – Peter's pleasure, in his hand. Peter's breath stuttered, mouth opening wider and asymmetrically as his lip pulled down unevenly. He looked gorgeous – skin darkening in a flush, lips reddening from their usual pink. His hand, tight on Peter's moving dick, felt it surge and throb under his fingers as it undoubtedly dumped his load into the water they were sitting in.

For a moment, swimming in Peter's spunk was the sexiest thing imaginable – dirty, filthy, nasty, submerged in it, covered with proof of Peter's desire for him and willingness to be with him as intimately as possible. Sylar's climax followed almost immediately, drowning in that thought as he emptied his balls. Peter whined, releasing him to reach up with both hands to take Sylar's head. Peter put his own to him cheek-to-cheek, breathing hard now.

 _Please don't say anything awful, Peter,_  was Sylar's first coherent thought.  _Don't tell me to forget it; don't tell me you think I'm going to hurt you. I'm trying to treat you right. I really am._  But Peter said nothing at all for a while, just holding him close and squirming closer like he couldn't get enough of touching him, legs and arms wrapped around him as he clung like a monkey. Sylar relaxed and returned the embrace, turning to nuzzle and peck at Peter's face affectionately, gestures Peter responded to by stroking his hair and nuzzling back with happy sounds. They spent long minutes doing it before it occurred to Sylar suddenly that his eyes were open and had been since before he'd come. Peter was looking right at him, making no complaint about it. In fact, he seemed perfectly relaxed. Sylar moved his head in for a direct kiss on the mouth, eyes on Peter's. Peter returned it, matching his gaze – dark, hazel-brown eyes open wide, pupils dilated with pleasure and acceptance.

Sylar pulled back, smiling.  _He likes me! We're getting there. A little at a time. Fuck, I want everything! All at once. But I've got to go slow for him. Slow and easy, and I'm getting him. He's mine, or going to be._  He kissed Peter again, possessively this time, plundering Peter's mouth with his tongue and doing some claiming of his own. Peter moaned and pressed to him, every sign of acceptance healing some of the damage time had done to Sylar's heart. When Sylar ended the kiss, Peter hugged him tighter, put his chin down on Sylar's shoulder, and held him quietly for long minutes, going through a final stage of winding down.  _He likes to cuddle after he comes. At least, I think he does. I think I do, too._  Sylar embraced him in return, letting his mind fuzz out and just float along on the endorphin high.

Finally, with a great sigh, Peter grimaced and climbed off awkwardly. The position was not kind to his knees. He sat on the bench next to Sylar, rubbing the joints slowly. Sylar reached up and took that errant lock of hair from Peter's face, tucking it behind his ear. Peter gave him the most affectionate, thankful smile that it made Sylar's stomach somersault and a queasy, tenuous, fluttery warmth of limerence spread through him. He leaned back, letting his hand rest on Peter's shoulder companionably.

"Tell me," Sylar started, "about water as a lubricant."

"It's a lousy one. Trust me on that. I figure it's better than doing it dry, but ..." He shook his head. "I'm not going to try. There's other things we can do. And we can just go find some real lube for when we need it."

Sylar made a slight hum in acknowledgment, pleased by the implied possibility of lots of sex in their future.

"A few other things," Peter went on, "when you're prepping me, for now, start with- um, prepping me for anal sex," Peter clarified and Sylar fought and failed to keep his expression neutral. While he was eager to know the information, he didn't like the insinuation that he needed to be schooled, "start with one finger, lubed, and at first just go in and out. Okay?"

Sylar's lips thinned and he nodded shallowly. Peter looked hesitant.  _If I set a pattern of disapproving when he explains things to me, then he won't explain them._  "What about after that?" he asked, trying and this time succeeding in fixing his face.

Peter checked him out for a few more moments, then said, "The main things that help relax a person's ass are arousal and stimulation, along with making them feel safe and like they won't get hurt if they ease up. So just keep moving that finger and don't stop doing other things while you do. When the muscle tension goes down, add a second finger. Don't shove it in there, though, just because you can."

Sylar frowned heavily at the implication he'd done wrong earlier.  _I didn't know because you hadn't told me! … Well, he did tell me to go slow. … Wait, did I break something? Is that what he's trying to say?_  "Are you okay? From … earlier?"

Peter gave a wan smile and shrugged. "I'm sore. I'll be all right tomorrow."

_I broke something. Dammit!_

"'One finger, two fingers, three fingers, dick.' That's the sequence until we know each other's signals better. And nothing goes in all the way at once. Even your dick. Little motions at first. The body has to  _adjust_. Give me a chance to breathe and get ready. Once I'm there, I'll tell you to go for it, or faster or harder or I'll start urging you to fuck me."

Irritated at his failure and Peter not pointing it out until now, Sylar grumbled, "You could have told me."

"I could show you."

"What?" His head snapped up in alarm.

Peter cocked his head a little. "I was saying that I could show you – a little finger-play with your ass instead of mine. I wouldn't fuck you if you didn't want it."

He didn't know what to say to that. Sylar swallowed.  _Have I been that transparent? I'll let him do what he wants. Fair is fair, after all._  Peter wanting him, Peter playing with him – that was kinky, exciting, and arousing. Peter sticking things in his butt? He wasn't sure about that. He'd much rather stay with getting to stick things into Peter's ass instead, which he noticed with a start had been the entire slant of Peter's discussion – how Sylar could keep Peter happy so that Sylar would get to keep sticking parts of his body into Peter's. "No, I think- I mean, I'll do it better next time. Promise." _There's a next time, right?_

"Okay," Peter said, nodding.

A little wound up by the discussion and realizing that he was now marinating in a dilute concentration of their combined ejaculates, Sylar said, "I'm going to go take another shower," bailing out. It had been sexy when it happened. Now it was disgusting as he imagined millions of tiny sperms swimming in the water. He felt bad once he was alone in the shower.  _Does he think I'm implying he's gross? That I need to shower after sex with him? I'm not even sure what we did was sex, technically. Should I have stayed there in the hot tub? I've left him alone. I got up after sex and left. Will he think that's because he told me how to get him ready for sex? I can't screw this up. I might never get another shot at it and even if I do, if I've fucked it up the first time, I'll be carrying that baggage forever._

And so it was that when they walked back to their respective apartments, Sylar was hesitant and uncertain again, angst-ridden as to how he should deal with the looming separation. He was right back to where he started, not knowing what to do with himself. Were they supposed to go their separate ways or never be parted again? Peter let go of his hand in front of Sylar's place, stepping away and glancing up the building when Sylar didn't immediately move off. In a tiny voice, Sylar said, "You could come up ifyouwantedto," running the words together at the end.

Peter glanced over at him, casual as could be, and shook his head. "No. Not tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He gave a friendly smile and walked off. Sylar shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe along the pavement.  _Maybe I should just let things happen without trying to force them. It's going okay – the room, Peter, everything._ Sylar lifted his head, looking out from under his brows at Peter's retreating back. A slow, predatory smile curled across his lips.  _Not much longer and you'll never be indifferent to me again. I'll be special and you'll be mine._


	15. Counterpoint

Sylar had asked for this position. He was a little less than enthused now that he had it. Peter was bent over the bed in front of him, properly lubed and prepped as far as Sylar could tell. He'd at least followed the directions Peter had given him the night before and promised (threatened?) to demonstrate on Sylar if he didn't get it right. He hadn't realized how much he'd miss seeing Peter's face and how many cues he got from that – hard to believe given the blindfold and keeping his eyes shut, but facing one another, he still had Peter's breath, lips, and proximity even if he couldn't see him. He also missed the man's hands roaming his body. But in exchange for all that, he had Peter even more defenseless and subordinate than taking him in missionary – the superiority what Sylar had been going for. Peter's willingness to adopt the position without a fight though left it feeling less like a victory and more like a poor choice.

 _Too late to back out now,_  Sylar thought.  _I'm getting the chance to learn. That's more than I had before. Nothing else is quite like 'hands-on' experience._  One of those hands teased along Peter's crack again, making the man squirm deliciously and mewl with pleasure as the digits slipped back inside the slick hole.  _So easy, so hot_. He'd spent a lot of time exploring the orifice this time, much to Peter's apparent delight. He bent to bite at Peter's shoulders and then rub his face against the dark hair – learning and experiencing. He was following his instincts and doing whatever seemed pleasurable as he figured out what he liked and what Peter responded to. He'd get more systematic at some later point, but right now he relished the opportunity to simply play without a script.  _He trusts me more now than he did yesterday,_  Sylar thought with no small touch of pride.

Peter turned his head, panting, eyes rolled enough to see him. Sylar kissed his cheek briefly, working his groin against Peter's ass, pulling his fingers out to guide himself even though all he was doing at the moment was rubbing his cockhead over the well-prepared entrance. Peter moaned so erotically at that, curving his back to present himself even more obviously, his body begging for penetration. The empath followed up with a slow rotation of his hips, causing Sylar to bite his lip, look upward and shut his eyes in bliss as he let Peter reverse things, rubbing his ass on Sylar's dick instead of the other way around. It was amazing to him how much more fluid their roles were than he'd anticipated. He was starting to fathom, to just get the edges of a grip, on Peter's way of thinking. There were no rules with carefully demarcated right and wrong, no black and white, no dominant and submissive. There was just this mixed up sea of grey and interchangeable roles that shifted constantly. It frightened him to realize the mind that could comfortably keep track of such turbulent, messy dynamics might be in some ways superior to his own. It was … kind of intimidating.

That aside, the alternating slick/hot/pressure/rubbing on the tip of his dick was blowing his mind. If he let Peter keep this up, he'd soon be blowing his load, too. He needed inside Peter  _now_. He wanted to buck against him violently and hear Peter cry out as he was pounded. He wanted to fill him, take him, and own him; devour Peter and make him his. That starving, possessive desire deep inside of him knew no boundaries. If Peter wouldn't draw limits, then he'd take everything he could get.

Sylar lined up and pushed within, much more slowly than he had the day before. He felt the spongy tip of his dick seem to pop past the slicked ring of muscle. Peter gasped and arched. It was such a lovely reaction that Sylar delayed his desire to slam into the man so he could pull out and repeat. This time Peter whimpered. Sylar held his position, one hand caressing the small of Peter's back while the other cupped the luscious curve of his ass. He waited with his cock barely an inch inside, softly stroking while Peter panted.  _Is this what he means about letting him adjust? I think I could get off on the control alone!_ With another plaintive mewl, Peter's knees flexed against the side of the mattress, pushing him back onto Sylar's dick.  _Oh yeah, Petrelli. Oh fuck YES! Fuck yourself on me … Oh God._

Sylar watched the mesmerizing, unbelievable sight of his penis gradually disappearing into Peter Petrelli's asshole, the dark, reddish skin clinging a little as Peter fucked himself with Sylar's cock. Sylar gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. Not even his wildest fantasy had ever gone this far! Peter reached back with his hands, groping blindly at Sylar's hips, probably with the intent of forcing some movement from his partner.

 _No, you're_ _ **mine**_ _, Petrelli. All mine._  Sylar took Peter's wrists and held them up and out to the sides, turning them to arch Peter off the bed just a little. The motion shoved Sylar's shaft all the way inside that perfect, wet asshole, socketing him perfectly.  _You fit so good on my dick, Peter. It's like you fucking belong there._ Peter's breathing choked and hitched, another whimper of delicious submissiveness filling the air as Sylar let his mind run wild with the power trip.  _Mine to fuck. Mine to position. Mine to arouse. Mine to do filthy, nasty, sexy things with. You don't get to touch me right now. I get to decide when we fuck!_

He twisted the man's arms so that Peter's wrists overlapped one another on the small of his back, where Sylar's long fingers could hold both at the same time. Peter's responsive moan took on a slightly different tone, deeper and more husky like it was from the bottom of his lungs. Even from behind, Sylar could tell that the man flushed. "You like being held down, huh? Is that it?" Sylar's grip tightened, pulling back and forcing himself as deeply inside the other man as possible. Peter's legs trembled and his breathing was short gasps. Sylar snarled, pulling almost all the way out and then yanking Peter back onto himself with a sharp, wet slapping noise as they came together.  _Mine! Finally!_

He gripped Peter's wrists harder as Peter was stiffening, tightening, breath still catching in the man's throat. Sylar pulled back a second time, looking down again to see Peter's lovely ass sucking lewdly at his cock before he rammed it back inside with another slamming thrust that left Peter choking and mewling helplessly. It was such a beautiful sound – exactly what Sylar wanted to hear from him. Peter's legs straightened and then flexed to either side of him, his shoulders jerked a couple times, and his next noise was definitely orgasmic as he writhed ecstatically, impaled as he was on Sylar's cock.

 _What?_  Sylar blinked at him, totally thrown as he felt a firm, decided clenching around the base of his dick.  _He just … did he …? Uh …_ He recalled how fucked out Peter had looked the only other time Sylar had penetrated the man and Peter had looked that way … well, before Sylar had even fucked him. He hadn't really paid much attention to what point in time Peter orgasmed then, either.  _I think he just came. What does that mean? Is that normal? What am I supposed to do_ **now** _? I've only fucked him twice … I mean, fucked into him, thrust … whatever. I didn't get to do my part!_

Peter started breathing again – long, breathy exhales sprinkled with small, sexy moans as he relaxed and deflated, legs going limp again, head flopping back against the bed. Sylar could see the edge of Peter's utterly self-satisfied smile and Sylar felt cheated that he'd done so little on his own to put that expression there. A moment later, Peter rotated his hips again in a slow, sensuous grind that apparently provoked some aftershock, because Peter twitched and his ass clenched again as he made a quieter, but still ecstatic murmur of sound.

Sylar was just standing there, dick inside the other man, feeling confused, let down, and very put-off. Yeah, he'd wanted Peter to come first, and it was, he supposed, a bit of a compliment that he'd gotten Peter off so quickly, but now he felt like the sex was pointless. There was no erotic climb, no conquest involved in bringing his partner completion. It was over before he'd even gotten started. Much.

"You can still fuck me," Peter said, voice thick with pleasure. He rocked his butt back a few times rhythmically in case Sylar didn't understand the principle. Completely nonplussed, Sylar let go of Peter's wrists ( _Did he pop because I was holding him down? Was that what got him off right away? Or was it because I fingered him too much first?_ ) and took his hips, beginning to thrust dutifully. Unsurprisingly, within a few moments he was pushing a rope. It was impossible to stay aroused while his mind was running ninety miles an hour trying to work out what he'd done 'wrong' and even more importantly,  _if_  he'd done something wrong. The squishy, flexible rules of Peter's worldview left him in maddening uncertainty. His dick rebelled against the distraction by limping out. He gave up quickly on the sex, disgruntled and dispirited.

Sylar withdrew, wanting to blame Peter but not able to figure out what to blame him  _for_. Then there was the non-trivial matter of it being stunningly unwise to express any level of dissatisfaction with a partner so new, who had issues with the whole thing anyway, and was even more fragile than Sylar.  _What the fuck do I do now? He's already gotten off. Am I supposed to fuck him anyway? Or is he just being nice when he's offering? If I can't do_ _it, is that wrong? And what do I do about my dick not working? Isn't all of this his fault? (Does someone have to be at fault? I wonder if Peter thinks I did anything wrong?) I can't even say anything to ask!_ As it turned out, it didn't matter that Sylar said nothing. His silence and stillness radiated his pent-up, building anger clearer than he realized. About as vulnerable as he could possibly be, Peter pulled himself further on the bed and curled up into a very quiet, very still ball.

Seeing that damaged body language, Sylar said in an undertone, "No, no, no, no!" He climbed on the bed immediately, fear obliterating his budding and unjustified wrath.  _He trusted me – he trusts me! He's defenseless right now. He_ _ **made**_ _himself defenseless to me. Don't make him regret that!_  He touched Peter's shoulder and scooted closer, offering a hug because it was what Peter had sought immediately after their previous romp on the dirty mattress of the sex room. With only a second's hesitation and a careful glance at his face, Peter huddled up to him just as before, relaxing ( _thank God. I didn't screw things up too badly_ ) as Sylar settled his arms around him and began to softly kiss the crown of Peter's head.  _Doesn't matter. We can fuck some other time. It's okay. He had a good time and that's what counts. I have to … learn how to take care of him. That's so weird. 'You break it, you buy it' – I want to own him … to do that I have to fix him. I'm the one who broke him in the first place, killing Nathan._  He mulled around the thoughts, occasionally making supportive murmurs as he perved on stroking Peter's silky hair.

A few minutes passed. Peter's hands came to rest on Sylar's ribs, forehead against his chest as more questions ran through Sylar's head.  _Is this what he meant by having issues and things being hard for him? Is this an inevitable cycle of … problems between us? Will it get worse? Better? … What can I do to make it better?_  Sylar stroked Peter's back.  _I think this helps. I have this. He has it, too. We're okay together. I'm making him feel better. Things I'm doing … I'm doing things that are helping. I'm … helpful? Does that mean I could be … worthy, worthwhile, to have a relationship with him?_  Peter lifted his head and kissed Sylar on the collarbone. Sylar felt a slow swipe of tongue, warm and wet. Jolted out of his internal monologue, Sylar glanced down to see Peter looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. Sylar smiled slightly.  _What does that mean? Is he turned on again?_

Peter uncurled himself to straighten and touch his lips lightly to Sylar's. Sylar exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain out of him. This was such a handsome creature he was in bed with, who was gentle and kind to him, passionate and friendly. So Peter had apparently really gotten off there. Sylar's frustration about it didn't seem to matter so much anymore – not with a heartrendingly sweet kiss being shared between them.  _I'm the one who got him off, in any case._  Peter's arms curled around his back and up to the top of his shoulders as Sylar let himself be rolled onto his back, Peter astride him.  _I'm still in the dominant position, even if he's on top. I could fuck him like this. Does he put himself into these positions intentionally, or is it an instinct?_

Sylar felt a surge to his groin, thinking about asking for this position the next time he had the opportunity. He assumed they were taking turns, but he really didn't know. There'd been the hand job (Peter's preference), missionary (Sylar's choice, far as he could tell), then the whatever-they'd-done in the hot tub (Sylar had no idea how to characterize that – it didn't fit any of Sylar's simple categories of dominant and submissive), and now this. Peter's tongue slid into Sylar's mouth, his head turning with a low moan in the back of his throat. Sylar answered it out of his own instinct, his hands stroking along Peter's sides as he kissed back.  _This is sexy. I like this. He's not telling me I can't look at him. Maybe … maybe he thinks I'm okay._

Peter broke from him to nuzzle along his cheek, nose and lips working at him, teeth nipping as he got to Sylar's jaw. Sylar let his fingers curl and grip as he stretched his head up and to the side.  _Please do my neck? Please?_  A hot breath caressed his throat as Peter continued, working his way down to collarbone and then back up, getting progressively rougher, biting harder, sucking more, and growling as Sylar began to pant and his hips twitched in want. His cock still had regeneration, even if the rest of him didn't – or at least it was hurriedly resurrecting itself. Something broke over him – it was an odd moment to have an epiphany, but it worked – and left his skin tingling with how important it was: he could make mistakes, do things to try to make up for them, and sometimes it would work and Peter would forgive him. He  _could_  be forgiven. That's what he was getting, right now, with Peter crouched above him, getting him off.  _It's okay. This is okay._ _ **I'm**_ _okay!_

Sylar groaned at that happy thought, buried his hand in Peter's hair and pulled him up for a passionate, probing kiss. Peter moaned into it, flattening himself against Sylar, his folded legs tightening against Sylar's hips. When they parted, Sylar blurted out a question he'd have never asked if he wasn't so overwhelmed by things. "You like me?"

"Oh, yeah," Peter crooned heartily. Sylar felt like he was melting inside. The approval made him want to surrender completely, do anything Peter asked or even implied he wanted. Right now what Peter seemed to want was to get him off, as the empath rose from him to cast about for the lube. He found it a long reach away, snagging it and applying a generous squirt to his hand. Sylar just watched, still thrilling to Peter's answer as the other man laid beside him and palmed Sylar's dick. Peter lay on his side with the elbow of the other arm propping him up near Sylar's head.  _Oh! Oh, God, yes! Touch me! Fuck, that feels good. He wants to make me feel good - to make_ _ **me**_ _feel good. Just … just because he likes me!_  Pleasure radiated through him from sources both emotional and physical. Flames of desire roared back to full strength as Peter returned to his earlier vocation in mauling Sylar's neck, marking him as shamelessly as he stroked him.  _Make me yours! Take me!_

Sylar stretched and arched, hips moving in tandem with Peter's hand, fucking into that warm, wet grip, bringing him off so selflessly. "Want you," Peter whispered as he reached Sylar's ear, nibbling and sucking at the lobe. The hot breath in his ear made Sylar shudder. His hands roamed indecisively over Peter's body, not sure what he wanted except that he wanted more. He wanted Peter's passion and desire and he was getting it. That 'want you' was ringing so sweetly in Sylar's ears. Peter rolled onto him, pushing a knee between Sylar's thighs and shoving it up until Sylar was riding Peter's leg. Peter didn't miss a beat with his cock, giving him long, perfect strokes from root to tip. Sylar panted, hanging onto Peter and shamelessly enjoying something for once in his life. Peter wasn't the only one being repaired inside.

Peter climbed partly over him again, turning his other arm so that the blade of his forearm was across the side of Sylar's throat, strangling him a little and pressing in enough to make him realize how easy it would be for the stronger man to hurt him. "Ya trust me?" Peter whispered hoarsely, his hand still pumping hard at him, that tempo pulsing through Sylar and making his whole body quake with the motions.

 _Oh!_  His eyes widened at that erotic threat, doubly so at the question.  _Have I ever really trusted anyone? Ever?_  Not really – mostly, he'd just thrown himself forward into Fate's arms, helpless to stop whatever betrayal he knew was inevitable. But this wasn't Fate; it was Peter. Maybe, just maybe, betrayal wasn't inevitable. He nodded.

Peter gave him a dark, menacing grin before taking his mouth, licking inside of him and lowering his body so Sylar was bearing some of his weight.  _Oh yeah! Oh, God, I want this!_  Another moment of clarity slipped into Sylar's mind – his wants, Peter's wants – they weren't the same and they didn't  _need_  to be the same. It was a boundary he didn't need to cross. He didn't need  _everything_. But before he could marvel at that too much, the hand at his groin began to grip harder, jacking him faster. He clung to Peter, feeling that forearm bear down on his throat, bringing a building pressure and light-headedness.  _Tie me up, hold me down, turn me on, get me off, beat me,_ _ **want me!**_   _That's what I want!_  He shifted his hips, spreading them and then tightening around Peter's leg, humping against him in time with the quickening motions on his cock. He shut his eyes and his constricted throat made a strained moan under the onslaught of Peter's passion for him.  _For me! All for me! He likes me! He wants me!_

Peter was not only holding his forearm to Sylar's throat, but he was sucking the air literally out of him. Sylar felt the burn in his lungs at the same time that he felt his orgasm spreading through him, gathering his awareness to a single, glorious point. Distantly he was aware of Peter's harsh exhales against his cheek followed by sucking at his mouth, consuming the essence of his life, swallowing down his air the same way he'd lapped up Sylar's come. It was impossibly erotic, sexy, and satisfying, to know that he was  _that_ acceptable to someone, approved of that much that they would take him into their body – vapor, liquid, or solid – any form, Peter would take them all from him. Peter  _wanted_  them all from him. It left Sylar delirious with happiness. Short of oxygen, he had a moment of out-of-body transcendence, floating awash in sensation before he came hard enough to snap back into his body, quivering in orgasm and bucking against Peter's weight. Peter lifted, rotating his arm off his neck, and Sylar gasped, sucking in air. Peter stroked lightly at Sylar's hair, slumping off to the side while Sylar's sense of reality came rushing back in a tingle of surging and receding pleasure across his body. It was nothing compared to the feeling of fulfillment in his soul.

Peter wiped his hand off on the bedspread behind him, then gathered Sylar up in an embrace that was a counterpoint to how Sylar had held him earlier. Questions that might have troubled him before (Dominant? Submissive? In charge? Not?), no longer mattered. He was liked. He was okay. He was salvageable. Because of that, he would be anything Peter wanted.


	16. Practice Run

_So. I guess the new norm involves being attacked by Peter Petrelli for sex._  Sylar was delighted.

He tried to catch himself as he was thrown down on the bed, Peter's hand authoritatively gripping the back of his neck. He pushed up, Peter pushed down and then augmented it by putting a knee into his kidney. There was a stab of pain and Sylar went flat immediately. In the past, Peter had demonstrated his willingness to escalate fights to ridiculous degrees, just like getting out that stupid hammer the day before. Sylar was uninterested in pissing blood for the next week. Also, he liked being dominated and forced down more than he liked fighting, doubly so now that they had some trust between them and could really let himself enjoy it.

He panted against the bedspread, feeling Peter rock most of his weight off of his knee and smooth his free hand up and then down Sylar's side in quiet appreciation. They were both naked, having moved to the apartment down the hall from Sylar's for their sex, just like they'd done that morning. Sylar knew what he was signing on for, if not the particulars. That's what they were discussing, oh-so-physically. He liked that better than the talky crap. He was getting so much of what he wanted here – it was just like he'd always dreamed Christmas should be, with one lovely gift after another. All he had to do was find the right blend of naughty  _and_ nice.

Speaking of which, Peter reached over and fished under the nearer pillow, pulling out something with a metallic clink that had Sylar jerking his head around that direction.  _The handcuffs! Where did … he must have slipped in here and planted them! I wondered where those were._  Peter had one slipped over his right wrist before Sylar could jerk away from him. Sylar wasn't going to make it easy for him, after all. Peter bore down with his knee; Sylar rolled into the pressure and then away to the side. Peter grabbed his right arm, nails digging in and leaving gouges as Sylar twisted out of that grip, too, trying to shove himself up off the bed so he could get some height and leverage. Also, he basically had his back to Peter at the moment, which wasn't a healthy position to be in.

Peter wasn't going to give up his advantage. He threw his body forward on Sylar's back, grabbing at his neck with his left hand and trying to stick his right under Sylar's right arm for a half nelson. Sylar made another twist and roll, this time ending up with his back flat against the bed – also not the best place to be for fighting, but he'd dislodged Peter for the moment. Peter grabbed the dangling handcuff and yanked.  _Ow!_  His wrists were still sore from the day before and Peter, ever vicious in a fight, seemed well aware of that. Sylar liked that.  **A lot**.  _You are seriously revving my engine, Petey-boy._  But he still punched the empath in the face with his left fist.

Peter fell back, floundering a little as Sylar tried to pull his right hand away. Peter hadn't been hit hard – Sylar's blow was more of a distraction than anything else. He hadn't forgotten Peter's admonition about how pain was not on the menu for him. In the struggle over his right hand, Peter came forward once more and Sylar tried to hit him again, open-handed this time because it didn't make much difference. On his back, he couldn't get enough wind-up to do any real damage. Peter still dodged it, but he did so by falling on Sylar – whether intentional or not was unclear. What was clear though was that as Sylar tried to shove him off, Peter snagged his left wrist with his right hand, trying to drag it to the handcuff.  _Whoa! Stop that._

It didn't work. They wrestled. Peter straddled him, climbing on top and Sylar could barely suppress a surge of joy, imagining fucking Peter like this. Sylar was already well hard. Peter wasn't, but that was oddly charming and unthreatening in a perversely sexy way. It made Sylar want to climb all over him and ravish him into submission. The idea that such might be allowed made his head spin. They struggled over the cuffs a bit more until Sylar managed to yank Peter forward and roll them over, putting him securely between Peter's legs. "My turn!" he crowed, just as Peter managed to finally click the other cuff over his left wrist.  _Fuck!_  He yanked – that hurt like hell and definitely did not help. Pain and desire were fogging together, making it hard to think.

Peter grabbed him by the throat and Sylar rolled them again, this time closer to the headboard. With a growl, Sylar wriggled and continued the motion while Peter didn't, trying to get away from him. Sylar ended up on his stomach, bowing his back to throw Peter off of him. He wasn't sure he was happy with Peter on top of him. It felt awfully threatening. Peter went; Sylar got up to his hands and knees. Peter grabbed at his chained hands; Sylar jumped back and to the side, almost going off the far end of the bed. He wavered on the edge. Peter seized his arm and pulled him back. The both stopped for a moment, breathing hard and looking at each other. Sylar's erection was at full attention, bobbing stiffly in front of him. Peter's expression conveyed how pleased he was about that.

Blood racing, heart pounding, Sylar let his lids fall to half-mast as he leaned forward slowly, opening his mouth and tilting his head. Peter met him, kissing him passionately and deeply. Sylar started laughing in the middle of it. He couldn't help it – this was so much fucking fun! Peter pulled back, jerked Sylar's hands to the side and something hit Sylar's hand, then the chain between his wrists. He started to pull away, but his balance was off and Peter had braced himself – probably during the kiss, the cheating little twerp. Sylar would have put up a better fight if he hadn't been trying to stifle laughter. There was a click of another cuff – this one tightening over the chain between his hands. The other end of the new handcuff was attached to the headboard of the bed.

 _Oh,_  Sylar thought, realizing he might be really stuck now. Fear flooded him right alongside an additional dose of delight. Uncertainty flared. Despite the pain that he knew it would cause, he yanked. The headboard was wooden - it wasn't made to secure prisoners. Sylar was hoping it would give way before the bones in his hands did. Peter's hand was on the back of his neck again, pushing him down. " **No!** " Peter ordered him sharply. "Don't break it." He pushed Sylar's face down into the pillow, expressing his dominance with a confidence that went straight to Sylar's dick.

Sylar twisted his head to the side, blowing his hair out of his way. It fell back into his face immediately. He didn't speak – panting, waiting, his mind feeling over this concept of surrendering that was making itself known to him. Peter leaned in, telegraphing his intentions much as Sylar had just before, and kissed him on the shoulder. He lingered, chewing and sucking his way around the triceps until Sylar relaxed and sank into the bed.  _Yeah, okay, you can molest me. I'll allow that._  He smiled into the pillow, stretching out flat as Peter nudged his butt down and began to work across his back. This wasn't surrendering; this was just letting something pleasant (very pleasant) happen without contesting it.

Sylar's back was kissed and licked and touched and caressed. He squirmed against the bedspread in response. Fingers tickled up and down his short ribs in exploration, leaving his own fingers to clench and spread, confined by the cuffs.  _Hey, I'm not blindfolded!_  He rumbled a deep, appreciative chuckle at the realization. He soaked up the attention and let himself relax into submission. It was something he hadn't been able to do completely the first time, in the room. Now he was much more certain that Peter would let him go at the end, and that he'd be alive, whole, and miraculously, even satisfied. He rubbed his eager, straining prick against the bedspread in anticipation.

Peter's hand went to the small of his back and then lower, making Sylar tense again. They hadn't discussed Peter topping him and it only now occurred to Sylar that face-down like this made it pretty damn obvious what Peter had in mind. He pulled himself forward a little, up on his elbows so he could hunch his shoulders and bow his head.  _Three out of four's not bad. Getting anything at all is an improvement. Yesterday, before I got him going, getting fucked is what I'd assumed would happen, best case. He wants me; I can focus on that while he does it._

Peter's hand swirled around one butt cheek and then the other, one finger teasing along Sylar's crack from bottom to top. Anticipation and worry bubbled up inside of him, making him alternately long for Peter to do it and be grateful that he wasn't yet. Taking in a deep breath, Sylar spread his legs. That would make it easier, he knew, as would, he assumed, lifting his ass but Peter wasn't asking for that yet. Peter repeated his stroking several times – cheek one, cheek two, and then crack, but the last time it was top to bottom, slowing as he went deeper, hand sliding between Sylar's legs. He spread himself further, head dipping lower as Peter's fingertips grazed along the hairy back side of his balls.

 _That feels weirdly nice. I wonder if he can make this okay somehow? He seems to like it when I do it to him. He said he even preferred it._  Peter's mouth left a trail of kisses down his spine while the hand between his legs pressed down on the bedspread to cup up under him, taking his balls into Peter's grip. It felt good – surprisingly good. Sylar tugged on the cuffs to remind himself he wasn't in charge at the moment. Pain bit into the back of hands still sore from the day before. He groaned a little at the sensation, giving himself up to it. Peter squeezed, kneaded, and tugged on his testicles. _No, not in charge at all, and somehow, that's not a bad thing._  Sylar fought the urge to raise his ass and present himself. It frightened him – that unsolicited instinct to make his receptivity known. But he wanted more, wanted to beg for it.

When Peter got the lube off the bedside table, Sylar's breathing jumped again.  _He's going to do it! Fuck ..._ He trembled in anxious anticipation when Peter slathered it on – up and down his crack, sloppily across the inside of his thighs, and slicked up his balls for good measure.  _My balls?_  His apprehension was side-tracked by uncertainty. That wasn't quite the script he'd been expecting.

Peter climbed above him, paradoxically nudging his legs together instead of apart and mouthing on his shoulders.  _What is he doing? That feels good, but why isn't he fucking me?_  Peter (probably?) wouldn't (couldn't?) fuck him with his legs together (right?) He could, and did, rub his own healthy Petrelli erection across Sylar's ass. That was a turn-on,  _definitely._  To know that Peter was aroused by him was arousing in and of itself. The set of Sylar's shoulders relaxed as he let Peter nibble away the tension with his teeth – a series of small bites and nips across his back as the empath's thighs hugged his and the man's cock settled into the cleft of his ass.

Peter hugged him from behind, letting his weight settle over him.  _'Covering' – a euphemism for sex, the breeding of animals,_  Sylar thought. Biology and animal husbandry textbooks had been one of the few allowed outlets for his sexual curiosity as a youth. It had given him a technical understanding of the act, but Peter was a seemingly endless font of knowledge about variations and expressions of sexing Sylar had never known existed. It made him wildly greedy to experience them all. He shifted his body back and forth under his own personal Italian stallion, reveling in how much skin contact they had going on. His mind buzzed with excitement from all that soft skin rubbing on his own.  _Oh yeah, Petrelli. You could get me off like this, so easy. Rub all over me!_

Peter lifted off for a moment, the lube bottle making a rude noise as he slicked himself up. Then Sylar felt it: he sucked in breath as Peter slid his dick between his legs with a low groan of pleasure and …  _Wait, what?_ Inside of Sylar's head, it was like the scrape of a needle drawn across a record, screeching to a stop. Not that Peter had stopped. No, he was getting into it. Really getting into it.

"Oh, fuck! Sylar ..."

Sylar's sudden mental paralysis didn't change the fact that Peter's cock was wetly slurping up and down between Sylar's legs rather than penetrating him, having departed from expectations yet again. An arm snaked under Sylar's upper chest, holding him while Peter humped away at him with abandon.  _Is this … foreplay? Or fucking? Or that frottage thing he mentioned?_  It was exciting, not so much in the way of direct stimulation, but he was getting so much more. Peter's heated groin was cupping his ass, thrusting into him without being 'in' him. It slapped against his skin just like sex, with the incredible feeling of Peter's dick sliding in and out as he was held tightly.  _Leave it to you, Peter, to fuck me in ways I didn't even know existed._

"You are so hot," Peter crooned as his love-bites on Sylar's back turned harder and more passionate.

Sylar rolled his shoulders and wriggled his body, shifting his hips experimentally. Peter's thrusts changed tempo to faster and shallower, pumping at him more energetically.  _What would it be like … if he did? If he fucked me? He said he prefers getting fucked. It can't be that bad. What if I'm missing out? God this … this actually feels_ _ **good**_ _._  Sylar made a low, deep noise of approval and Peter's hand forced its way down his chest, past his belly, finding his long-trapped shaft and wrapping around it.

"Gah!" Sylar choked out, surprised and grateful for the attention he hadn't even realized he wanted at that moment. Peter retracted his hand and hesitated for a moment, a second graceless noise from the lube bottle announcing his action. Then the hand was back, slippery and sexy, the sensation such a contrast to the former that it pulled a needy sound from Sylar's throat. Peter's hips slowed a bit as his concentration went to the grip sliding up and down Sylar's cock, stroking and pulling.

"Fuck my hand," Peter whispered.  _So hot._  To have those words murmured to him by this particular person was unbelievable. Sylar's loins began to flex, slowly at first and then building in tempo, fornicating with Peter's fist.  _Feels so good._  He could feel his shifting thighs squeezing Peter's dick, so slick and hard between his legs.

 _Fuck! This is … oh God … it's like fucking myself on his cock …_ And without any of those things he was worried about. It was like anal sex without the problems – no grossness, no penetration, no pain. Not that he minded the pain, and the tight grip Peter had on him was a perfect intensity that had him gasping and shoving into it for more. His muscles were bunching and starting to burn, but what sent him over the edge was the return of Peter's mouth to his shoulder, biting him hard and growling possessively in his ear. Hot breath, wet tongue, and sharp teeth all caressed his skin with firey pleasure, sinking in and making him arch up off the bed. Something inside of Sylar clicked – he really, desperately wanted Peter to fuck him for real, to take him in every sense of the word.

The thought of opening himself like that to anyone shot through him like lightning, setting off sparks throughout his body, narrowing fast to pure, raw need in his gut. " _Take me!_ " he said gutturally, a spontaneous, almost unthinking utterance that caused Peter to redouble his energy, roughly pounding him, tugging at his root, biting him twice more. "I want … fuck ..." Sylar said brokenly, unable to articulate as the world narrowed down to nothing but glorious, pain-tinged sensation. A moment later, he was spilling.

Peter came up to his knees, pulling out from between Sylar's legs and half-crouching above him. Sylar looked back over his shoulder to see Peter beating himself off, one hand getting busy as the other caressed the side of Sylar's ass. The head of his dick was swollen and shiny, darkening even as he watched. In another moment, Peter came, muscles tightening as his balls emptied themselves onto Sylar's buttocks. Hot jism dribbled and spurted onto him. Sylar had only the faintest ambivalence, a concern about what it meant for Peter to do something that … dominant? presumptive? possessive? to him. It was wiped out by the realization that was exactly what it was – an expression of Peter's desire for him, to dominate, to presume, to possess.

_He's … he's marking me. Bites, cuffs, semen. He really wants me, wants me to be … **his**._


	17. Where There's Smoke

"There is a school of thought which posits that where there is smoke, one can find fire."

Peter listened to Sylar and then casually looked around what he thought of as the 'sex room', putting his right hand on one of the metal poles and leaning against it. "This place ought to be in flames, then." At Sylar's uncertain glance, Peter elaborated positively, "This is  _definitely_  hot." He surveyed the tables of tools and implements he'd seen for the first time just the day before yesterday. This was the room where he'd finally broke down and let there be something between him and Sylar besides rage and recriminations. He'd torn down a wall here, but was still afraid of what was on the other side.

Sylar slipped up behind him, rubbing his face against Peter's hair and breathing warmly down the back of his neck, followed by nibbling seductively at his nape. Peter didn't understand what he was so concerned about, why he was still holding back, but he was. He tilted his head forward, breathing harder already at Sylar's attentions. This, he liked. A lot. One of Sylar's hands rested on his outer shoulder while the other trailed up his arm to the pole. Then it came back to his wrist. Something other than fingers was there. Peter blinked and turned his head to see what it was as the handcuff clicked in place over him.

"Wait! What?" Peter jerked his hand away but Sylar, prepared for that, jerked it right back. A metallic clink was followed by the rapid-fire clicking to tighten the cuff around the bar. Peter yanked once, fear and adrenaline shooting through him as all his worst fears surged to the front of his mind. He spun and lashed out, but Sylar had already stepped away. Peter grabbed at him again anyway, rewarded only by Sylar seizing his hand and raising another handcuff to it. "No!"

They struggled. Peter felt like he was fighting for his life, but he didn't succeed in avoiding having the cuff placed on his wrist. At least the other end of it wasn't fastened to anything. Yet. Sylar gave up quickly on trying to get him to another pole and pulled back out of his reach. Wild-eyed and unable to get to his enemy, Peter retreated back to the fixture he was attached to.  _Now it's going to happen? Now he's going to hurt me, torture me, kill me?_ Peter crouched slightly, prepared to kick, trying to think of what his options were as long as he was confined and trying  _not_  to think that this must have been what his instincts had been warning him about all along.

After staring at him for several tense seconds, Sylar pulled out the key and held it up where Peter could see it. Instead of taunting him with it, he tossed it to Peter's feet. "Before you use that, listen to me." Peter picked it up anyway, lips tight and eyes narrowed in case this was some kind of trap.  _This whole room has always been_ _a tr_ _ap._  He examined the key and glanced at his wrist. They looked compatible, but why would Sylar give it to him? Why would he trap him and then immediately give him a way out? He looked to Sylar, who was poised, face betraying a desperate earnestness rather than anything that looked like duplicity. Still chained, but with the key in his hand, Peter waited.

"You still don't trust me," Sylar said with disappointment evident in his voice.

"Should I?" Peter bared his teeth and jangled the cuff on the pole, only made more angry by how Sylar was upset at Peter's reaction rather than upset that he'd done something to cause the reaction. It pissed Peter off that Sylar was not seeing his own role in this.

"You did more than that to me … and I let you."

"That was different," Peter snapped.

"How?" Now Sylar sounded frustrated and uncomprehending, like being chained against his will was something any reasonable person would have welcomed and Peter was just being unfathomably difficult.

Peter stared at him, angry grimace slowly fading.  _Sylar … really is this clueless. And … he must have intended this to go well. It's another huge risk, just like when he walked me in here the first time and was willing to let me kill or torture him._  Peter sighed and backed up, putting his shoulder level with the bar, trying to get his mind around that. He gripped the pole for its solidity.

Sylar pursed his lips at Peter's lack of answer and said, "I didn't ask you if I should trust you then; I just did." He frowned, peering at Peter as if exasperated and wishing he could force sense into him just by looking. Peter knew it didn't work that way, but even so, he continued reassessing things. Sylar had had many opportunities to hurt him since they'd been intimate. He had not. But knowing that didn't dispel the fear imbedded by multiple incidents from before and buried grief. Sylar added unhelpfully, "I have given myself to you; you haven't given back."

"It doesn't work that way! You don't have any fucking idea!" The bald-faced attempts at emotional manipulation were not helping.

But Sylar only shrugged in the face of the yelling and seemed to reconsider what it was he was going to say. "You told me, the first time we were in here, that I didn't know what you wanted. I thought I did. I thought if you had me, all of me, utterly and completely, that it would be enough. But … it isn't. I see that in the mad way you just fought me off. I see that in the way you're holding onto that key like it's a lifeline. I see that … I 'don't have any fucking idea'. I was … " He swallowed around words that were uncomfortable for him to utter, forcing them out anyway. "I don't know how it works, Peter."

Peter blinked a few times and shuddered, surprised to hear that much of a concession, of a genuine attempt to communicate, come out of Sylar's mouth. It defused so much of Peter's anger to hear Sylar admitting he wasn't the expert on Peter Petrelli – what he wanted, and what he needed. That release soothed a lot of his fears, letting him consider finally letting them go. "Sylar, I ..." He looked at the key, loosening his hold on it. Really, this was ridiculous. Could he internalize that Sylar wasn't going to hurt him, wasn't a danger? He wanted to, and he could say the words and even think them to himself, but could he believe them? He looked up at Sylar. "I don't know," he said in a small voice. "I told you I wasn't ' _right_ ', not inside. If I was, then we'd have worked things out between us a long time ago and it wouldn't have taken something like this," he waved at the room with his free arm, "to … to get me to … you know." Sylar's brows rose in question. "To be with you," Peter said with an inexplicable moment of shyness, soft and warm feelings welling up inside him as some of the fear ebbed away. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want an apology," Sylar said, staring at him intently now. He quirked one brow. "I want to fix you."

Peter stared at him, a little anger seeping back into his face. "You don't even know what's wrong. You've said that."

Sylar gave one curt nod and pulled over the wooden chair Peter had used before. He sat and looked at Peter, attentive to every cue. "Then tell me."

"You're going to listen to me  _now_?" Peter pulled back his head and waved at the stuff in the room again. "Instead of assembling all this on your own and springing things on me, then refusing to give me any time to cope with it? And being angry about how I try to deal? With fucking handcuffs and … sex?" Anger flowed through him like burning energy. Now that he had the opportunity to speak his mind, he wanted to deck Sylar for forcing them together so abruptly, for making their connection something Sylar had done and Peter was left reacting to, badly and repeatedly. It was so unilateral that even though Peter desperately wanted someone to cleave to, to make love to, to share joy and affection with, he still wanted to kick Sylar's ass for being so fucking dense.

"Yes ..." Sylar's expression faltered a little under Peter's powerful glare. "I'm going to listen to you," he said quietly.

Peter snorted and made up for the volume missing from Sylar's voice. "You killed my brother. You killed a lot of people. You  _suck!_  You've done all kinds of things; preyed on people like they were animals, terrorized them and gotten off on it."

"I didn't get off on it," Sylar grumbled. He shifted slightly and looked down.

Peter barked a laugh. "You don't deny anything else, but you want to argue about  _that_?"

Sylar shook his head, looking back up. " _That_  is not true. The rest is a matter of record."

"You wouldn't admit to it a few days ago."

"You … have accepted me," Sylar said, lowering his head and looking up at Peter. His voice deepened, the slightest involuntary catch in it conveying his emotion more than anything intentional could have. "You're going to have to accept all of me or it doesn't count. That includes everything I've done." After a pause, he said, "I accept everything you've done, including the times you looked away and did nothing."

"That's not equivalent," Peter snapped and pointed at him, "and you are not the sole judge of what counts and what doesn't, or what's fair and what isn't. I am not  _required_  to help you and I don't have to  _accept_  anything. And I  _haven't_  accepted what you've done!" Peter threw his hands up for emphasis, the metal cuff scraping jerkily along the pole. "I'm trying to deal with it while you pretend it never even happened!" All things considered, Peter thought it was probably a good thing that he was chained to the pole and unable to accompany his words with any more violent expression of his feelings.

Sylar dipped his head and exhaled roughly. He hunched his shoulders. "You … want me to take responsibility. I … I don't know how."

"You start by admitting it!"

Sylar made a hollow laugh, still looking at the floor. "Is that like that rotten twelve step program?"

"No. It's 'How to Apologize 101'. Maybe that's a class you missed. I'll give you the Cliff Notes version: admit what you did, recognize that it hurt people, say you're sorry, agree it was your actions that caused the problem, tell me what you'll do to make sure it doesn't happen again, and acknowledge that the feelings of other people matter!"

Sylar blinked at him uncertainly, like Peter had just said something mind-blowing.

"What?" Peter finally asked.

"That's … a class I missed."

Now it was Peter's turn to blink in surprise. "O-kay." Was it really that simple?

"I … I should … There's no punishment appropriate for what I did." Sylar shook his head, hunched his shoulders even further, and drew in on himself.

"Listen to the lesson again, Sylar," Peter said with sudden gentleness, wondering if perhaps he'd managed to hit the problem squarely on the head of the nail. "There's nothing about punishment in it."

"But how …? How do you deal with that sort of thing without punishment?" Sylar wasn't looking at Peter, his eyes tracking back and forth along the floor. "Yesterday. I did something wrong in bed with you." His head came up, expression hopeful. "And it was okay. I …" He swallowed. "I hugged you and it was alright."

Peter nodded slowly, remembering that moment. Sylar's inexplicable fury had left Peter wondering what he'd done and blaming himself even though he didn't know why Sylar was angry. His only assumption was that it had something to do with how he'd come. Too vulnerable and upset to face Sylar with communication so spotty between them, Peter had just curled up on the bed and hoped Sylar would go away. But he hadn't. Sylar had gotten over whatever was wrong and offered comfort instead. Softly now, Peter said, "I didn't come here to punish you, Sylar." Fervidly he added, "That has  _never_  been my intention."

"I've done … more things than I can easily recount. I've hurt a lot of people. I'm," Sylar swallowed and took a deep breath, staring straight forward at Peter's feet, eyes wide as he blurted out his apology by the formula Peter had related, "sorry. It … was … I did it; no one and nothing else. Your feelings matter. And I won't do it anymore."

Peter drew in and released a deep breath, sinking as he leaned on the pole until he was sitting on the floor. It was a halting and vague mea culpa but he didn't doubt the sincerity of it. Nor, strangely, that Sylar hadn't comprehended how important it was to give one – both for Sylar to give it and for Peter to hear it. "Thank you," Peter said, a sense of relief washing through him. "I can accept that – all of it." Sylar raised his eyes to Peter's. For a very long moment, they simply looked at each other. Peter took in the expressive eyes, handsome face, and the faint hope-against-hope lurking on his features.

Peter let out a breath and said, "I don't want to hurt you. Maybe I did some before, but not definitely not now."

"I don't want to hurt you, either," Sylar answered immediately. "At least … not if you don't want me to."

 _Is he flirting?_  Peter scanned over Sylar's features, seeing the tilt of the head and a hint of a smile. Peter smiled back, slyly, happy that with all the heavy emotional baggage they'd just laid down, that Sylar was still good with things between them. He'd been badly startled by the handcuffs, but Sylar had given him the key, listened, processed, and even apologized. Peter wasn't afraid anymore. Even in the heat of his anger, he hadn't unlocked himself because they were finally getting somewhere, finally connecting. He rattled the restraint that was still fastened to the pole and flirted back, "So what's all this about?"


	18. There's Fire

Peter ended up chained to two poles much like Sylar had been before. However, his arms were somewhat free to move up and down rather than being forced above his head, and he faced into the set of four poles rather than out of it. He was also naked. Sylar had covered the blue tarp with the mattress, taking up the space between the poles and sticking out a little on each side. It was an event that had tempted Peter with all manner of dirty thoughts and naughty promises.

Sylar had not given him a play-by-play or even so much as a general theme. He'd mentioned the intense and immediate climax Peter had experienced the day before when he'd been held down – that was what Sylar wanted to play to, and that was what he wanted Peter's cooperation on. He'd skated around one other thing until it was Peter who made it verbal: "You want to know if I trust you." Sylar had merely swallowed and kissed him as an answer – a resounding 'yes' of insecurity that Peter wanted to dispel.

Peter's toes squirmed against the edge of the mattress, rubbing up and down against the shoddy fabric. He was tense, muscles tightening as he shifted uneasily, eyes tracking his 'captor'. Sylar was circling him slowly, devouring him with his eyes, an activity that left Peter's skin tingling and blood rushing to his cock. He had never in his life been so thoroughly and hungrily examined. He faced straight forward, not turning his head to follow Sylar's movements, but unable to stop the course of his eyes. When Sylar passed behind him, it was even more delicious to go without the certainty of sight. Every measured step across the smooth concrete reverberated through his body. He could hear Sylar's breathing as an echo of his own deepening, excited breaths. The anticipation built inside of him, knowing that at any moment Sylar would pounce, perhaps strike, hopefully not hurt, and definitely sex him up – and there was nothing Peter could do about any of it. He jerked at his bonds again.

While there were  _some_  things Peter could do – yell, struggle, curse, threaten revenge, and fight within the limitations the handcuffs placed on him, he knew that ultimately, Sylar could have his way with him, whatever 'way' that might be. When that second cuff had clicked into place, Peter was showing his complete trust, knowing what that cold, metal wrist-embrace meant. It whittled down his options so much that Sylar could enact any of those things Peter had feared when he first came into this room – abuse, torture, depravity, long-term confinement … anything.  _He has to be tempted_ , Peter thought.  _He has to be thinking I might be more fun like this than anything consensual._  Every disconnect between them that had played out for the previous two days was in sharp relief in Peter's mind; every disappointment and frustration that had shown, however briefly, on Sylar's face was being held up as evidence for why Sylar might do something very unpleasant. Peter, already ridiculously tense, trembled.

But he'd let himself be chained up anyway. Did Sylar still question his trust?

Sylar came close behind, his hand touching Peter's forearm and sliding over the swell of flexor and extensor muscles. Peter pulled in a sharp breath, all raw nerves and high strung from nothing but anticipation and being looked at. Being touched was a relief and a danger at once – the comforting presence could turn harrowing so easily. Sylar paused, humming a speculative, "Hmm," as he drew the moment out, stroking the softer, thinner skin at the inner bend of the elbow. That was when Peter couldn't keep up his attempted indifference by looking forward. He turned his head to watch as Sylar's hand drifted behind him, hand trailing over bicep and deltoid to settle on the back of Peter's neck, gripping hard enough to manhandle him if he wished.

"Huh," Peter panted, swaying forward a little to avoid the grip. There was very little sexiness that could come of Sylar putting him in his place. It wasn't a place Peter wanted to be. Peter was always striving to be something else, to be more, to be someone … someone other than who he thought people saw him as. He didn't want to be made to be that person who couldn't stop others, who couldn't change anything, who was a passive victim of oppression. But Sylar didn't know Peter's internal script. He pulled him back, fingers digging in enough to bruise. "There's no getting away this time, Peter."

Unable to escape, Peter made a faint, pained grunt and the pressure abated slightly. Sylar's other hand slid around the front of Peter's neck, cupping his chin and then gliding down his throat to the clavicle before coming back up. "No getting away at all," Sylar told him with a small sneer. "I could do  _anything_  I wanted to you right now." The two hands wrapped around him without squeezing, but even just their presence made Peter fidget and squirm. He couldn't do anything else effective to stop it. Muscles tensed and stood out along his arms as the metal of the cuffs pressed painfully into the back of his hands. The bones in his wrists complained of the pressure enough that even the normally bull-headed Peter let up.  _If I really trust him, I'll calm down. Calm down, right? Can I cal_ _m down?_

"So much life," Sylar murmured, his mouth near Peter's ear as he snuffled at his hair. "So easy to end. So precious for that." Peter let out his breath as Sylar's hands pulled away from his throat to run over his shoulders and then down his back. "Mmm," Sylar purred appreciatively, fingers sliding around his waist, tracing hip bones and iliac muscles before dipping lower to circle around his bare buttocks. He wasn't being threatened with asphyxiation anymore; a ridiculous degree of gratitude flashed through him for that, along with a pleased frisson that danced along his skin and made him shiver at the confirmation that his trust might be rewarded. That was so fucking sexy – the whole thing was. It felt like heat was shimmering off his skin; his heart was pounding, his cock was at stiff attention and nudging his belly. Peter spread his legs, bowing his head and biting his lip to keep from begging for more.

He didn't have to beg. Sylar's lips came down on his shoulder, hot and wet, taking his skin between them and tugging in light, playful bites as his hands continued to fondle his ass cheeks. Peter pushed backwards into them with his rump, presenting himself and spreading just a bit more, breath coming in noisy pants around his bitten lip. "You are  _so_  easy," Sylar whispered to him, running his hands over and around Peter's hips before seizing them to grind himself against Peter's backside.

"Yeah!" Peter huffed out in a whine, not stopping himself from giving voice to how much he wanted this. He could feel Sylar erect as well, rubbing firmly along his crack through the layer of denim between them. He wanted that cock inside of him, any way he could get it. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Sylar chuckled and gave him a hard pat on the ass as he moved away, his departure an unsettling loss. Now Peter was craning his neck, twisting in place to watch the man, hungry with his own eyes the way Sylar had been before. Sylar had his full attention in every way – he didn't disguise it. Peter's mouth was open, eyes bright, hair dangling over half his face as a result of putting his head down. He wished like hell his hands were free; he was so glad they weren't, because it forced him to put his faith in Sylar, allowed Sylar to prove it wasn't misplaced. It was wildly turning him on. He felt like a spring that was wound too tightly.

Sylar rounded in front of him, stepping carefully across the squishy mattress. It gave him a few more inches of already intimidating height and Peter was reminded again of how wide the power differential was at the moment. He pulled back the few inches he was allowed, looking up further than normal and feeling very much at Sylar's mercy. Sylar was fully clothed, fully free, and there was no one else in the world to hold him accountable for anything he did.

What he did was to tilt Peter's head up, kissing him uninhibitedly like he wanted to devour his mouth. His tongue boldly pressed inside of Peter, welcomed and caressed by Peter's tongue in turn. Peter's hands made fists, pulling at the restraints and having a better appreciation of the exquisite psychological torture by denial he'd put Sylar through in not allowing the man to touch him. Touch meant so much to Peter – giving it was a sign of control. To receive it passively underscored who was in control at the moment and it wasn't Peter. Sylar carded Peter's hair back from his face, running his fingers through it and scrunching it at the nape of his neck as the kiss went on, his hands eventually circling to Peter's chest when he finally pulled away. Peter panted up at him, his plundered mouth still hanging open as he rattled noisily at the restraints. "The things I want to do to you," he managed to collect himself enough to say.

Sylar lazily looked down Peter's naked body and then back up, gaze lingering on his groin. "The things I'm going to have you do to me," he said with a single quirked brow.

Peter leaned forward, lips framing an attempted kiss because he wanted more of Sylar's tongue, his taste, his hands, being touched and surrendering to it. Sylar had other ideas. He took Peter's shoulder and pushed him down to his knees, making Peter kneel with his knees on the mattress and feet behind on the concrete. The cuffs scraped along the poles at the change in height. Sylar was even more enormous this way, but Peter's attention was immediately distracted by the bulging groin he was now eye level with. Sylar took a step back to keep his balance on the shifting surface, then he returned to stroke Peter's hair, swiping it back and to one side. Peter pressed his face forward, glancing up to make sure he understood. And yes, that was where Sylar wanted him – face to groin, or at least upper thigh. Peter licked his lips, salivating in anticipation. This would be an even better taste than Sylar's mouth. Peter had gotten off by sucking people before, but he wasn't sure if he could climax without a hand free to stroke himself, or at least something to grind against.

After a few moments of shamelessly rubbing Peter's face against his crotch, Sylar let Peter go so he could open his pants … slowly, gradually. Peter kissed his hand a few times as he had the opportunity, eagerly sucking in Sylar's thumb and massaging it with his tongue to hurry him along, looking upwards to see Sylar's smirking, lustful expression. Sylar looked like one of his wildest fantasies was in the process of coming true. Peter's encouragements worked enough that Sylar's last motions weren't slow at all. With a heavy exhalation, Sylar exposed himself, pushing down his pants only enough to free his turgid length. Peter breathed against it, letting it air out for a moment, blowing on it and watching it bob in the open air. The aroma was masculine and delicious, stoking his fire even more, as if that were possible. Sylar made a nearly inaudible whimper. Peter looked up with another flash of eyes. Sylar was biting his lower lip; he didn't seem to know what to do now. It was cute that the thought of forcing his dick into Peter's mouth didn't seem to have occurred to him. It would be so easy to do.

Peter teased by licking the frenulum with only the pointed tip of his tongue. Sylar reached his left hand to the pole, bracing himself as his eyes slid shut in bliss and he leaned his body inward towards Peter. Maybe he'd had the thought after all and merely decided to let Peter do this at his own pace. Control and a sense of power settled over Peter even though he was the one chained, spread, nude and on his knees. The great and mighty Sylar was willing to put his little head into, if not the lion's mouth, then at least Peter's. Peter puffed another hot breath against the penis, opening his mouth and making a shallow spoon of his tongue. With an upward motion of his neck, Peter slid Sylar's cock into his mouth and over his tongue, the flaring head of it widening Peter's mouth until his lips popped over the ridge. The tenor of Sylar's breathing changed – he panted open-mouthed now. Peter could taste the salty, meaty flavor of Sylar's skin. It left his own member throbbing helplessly, desperate for stimulation that he was only getting orally. Peter wrapped his lips around the top of the shaft and sucked with lewd enthusiasm. He breathed through his nose as his lungs were filled with Sylar's scent. Sylar put his free hand into Peter's hair and made a fist of it, holding him close as he groaned in pleasure.

Peter made a noise in his throat in response, feeling himself drooling around the corners of his mouth and being powerless to do anything about it. Oh yes – Sylar was literally mouth-watering. Peter pushed forward, taking him deeper inside. He wanted the whole thing in him if he could manage it. He made a semi-convulsive swallowing motion at the back of his throat, then pulled in a couple deep breaths in succession. He relaxed and swallowed Sylar down, letting the entire length inside of him at last. In a moment, his nose was buried in Sylar's pubic hair and the sense of forced fullness was incredibly erotic. He was drooling uncontrollably now; feeling drops of his own saliva hitting his chest and dick. He moaned around the cock in his mouth, wishing for anything – a mouth, a hand, even a god-damn stiff breeze against his own dick. He was sure he needed only the slightest contact there to get off.

"Oh, God," Sylar whimpered. Peter rolled his eyes upwards, able to see Sylar's face on the backstroke as the man began to fuck his face, using the hand in Peter's hair to guide his head back and forth. He looked staggered, blown away by what was happening. Peter couldn't continue it for more than a few thrusts before some involuntary twitch had him fighting the gag reflex, but those moments were ecstasy anyway. Sylar pulled out, letting Peter hang his head and breathe deeply, ridding himself of the urge as quickly as he could. He wanted to get back to giving head as soon as possible.

Sylar petted him soothingly. "Now we see who  _really_ sucks between the two of us, don't we?"

Peter looked up at him, giving his head a jerk to flip his hair out of his eyes. "It's the only way to deal with you being such a huge dick all the time," he said sweetly before dipping back for a second course.

Sylar chuckled, but shifted himself out of the limited reach of Peter's questing mouth. "That was fantastic – making you eat me. Now I'm going to make you take me." He pulled his pants up somewhat and crouched, tugging Peter's legs out and arranging him face-up, arms still chained. His head ended up on the edge of the mattress, where his knees had been before. Sylar fetched lube, disrobed quickly, and knelt between Peter's bent legs.

Peter spread his knees immediately, scooting down as far as he could go, feeling the pull in his shoulders. He wanted to be closer, as close as possible. There was no question of trust anymore – Peter gave it, total and complete. Now it was simply a matter of when he'd get off, and how. He could imagine Sylar fucking him while he was bound like this, unable to escape, held down and kept captive for Sylar's amusement. It was a delicious, double-edged fantasy, one that didn't hold fear anymore, but still derived no end of energy and intensity from the illusion of danger. Sylar applied wet, slippery fingers to generously spread the lube everywhere between Peter's legs, delighting him in how Sylar didn't go straight in. The teasing had Peter pushing his hips down, trying to spear himself on the exploring fingers, fighting against the increasing burn in his shoulders as he did. His efforts were rewarded with a smug smile and just a fingertip, wiggling back and forth, in and out.

"Oh, fuck, Sylar!" Peter gasped out when he realized he wasn't going to get as much as he wanted. He still had the rich taste of Sylar's cock on his tongue and the smell of his groin in his nose, but Sylar had not so much as brushed his dick and was giving him less than an inch of fingertip.

"Hm?"

"Please?"

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me!"

Sylar chuckled with evident satisfaction, probing inward with that single finger in an easy, well-lubricated slide.

"Ah! Ah!" Peter flexed upwards, relieving his shoulders and reveling in the feeling of Sylar's bunched knuckles pressing firmly into his perineum with that one insertion. A moment later though, before Peter had had a chance to work himself on it, Sylar withdrew his hand for even more lube. This time he finally gave some attention to Peter's prominent prong, spreading the cool lubricant all over Peter's dick like he had their first time. Peter writhed slightly, trying to thrust into a hand that refused to grip him, sliding off to the side and covering him thoroughly. "I want you," Peter bleated, willing to beg in whatever way would motivate Sylar to give him release.

"You'll get me," Sylar responded. There was another squirt of lube, but Sylar only held it in his hand as he crawled up Peter's body, straddling him with long, bent legs.

_What?_

Sylar reached behind with the lubricant, applying it to himself.

 _You know, he won't answer unless I say it out loud._  "Oh, wait … what?"

Sylar smirked at the surprised expression Peter was wearing, "Your face." He reached back, found Peter's hard shaft and stroked it, provoking a jerk and a buck mostly as a continuation of surprise. It was what Peter wanted – a tight grip to get him off, but he was too busy trying to process what was going on. "That's it," Sylar crooned, settling back and lining himself up. "I told you," he breathed as Peter felt the head of his cock press against the very wet seam, Sylar inexpertly seeking the right spot, "that I'd make you take me."

 _Oh._  Everything made sense suddenly, as Peter finally got enough brain cells distracted from the engrossing topic of racing to orgasm to consider what else was going on. Sylar was exploiting the situation just as Peter had the first time – making him helpless had emboldened Sylar to try things that maybe he wasn't willing to do when hands were free and the other body able to take things faster than Sylar might want them. Peter could feel Sylar's body yield slightly as the man found the right place. Helpfully Peter offered, "You should go slow. You didn't do any prep; it's probably going to hurt."

"Don't distract me."

Peter felt the hot flesh part slightly around him, pressure causing his dick to bend. It wasn't painful, but it was … difficult. His arousal had dipped a lot, mostly because thinking was not a turn on for Peter. He held very still, letting Sylar push his own limits and use Peter's body to do it. Peter felt honored by that, understanding too why Sylar hadn't wanted to share anything of what he had planned. Peter suspected that assumption he'd made, that sentence said aloud, 'You want to know if I trust you', had been only partly true. Sylar wanted to know if they trusted each other – including if he trusted Peter enough to do this with him. Peter grunted as he felt the primary resistance of Sylar's body wane, the remaining rigidity of his cock winning out over the strength of Sylar's sphincter. As he'd expected, Sylar's expression was pained.

"Does it always feel this way?"

"No," Peter said softly. "It gets better. It'll get better now if you keep moving a little. Touch yourself. Don't try to put me further in you."

Sylar swallowed and nodded, but after a moment, he pulled off completely. He squatted there awkwardly, looking confused and uncertain. In case he was shamed by the perception of failure, Peter made lips at him and said, "Kiss me?"

"It was burning. Is that normal?"

"If you go too fast, yes." He repeated the invitation for a kiss, duck-facing hopefully in Sylar's direction.

Not knowing what else to do, Sylar lowered himself to all fours to kiss Peter's lips. When he lifted off, he asked, "How much did I hurt you the other day?"

"You didn't. Not much. It's okay. I've done it a lot. You haven't." He wished he could soothe more directly, but lacking the ability to touch, he made up for it with a soft expression, gentle words, and complete attention.

Sylar kissed him again and then again and once more Peter's instincts screamed for him to hug, embrace, and somehow hang onto the source of affection. He wanted to give comfort and reassurance. He felt stupid and frustrated in an entirely non-sexy way that he was unable to do much physically. All he could do was bring his knees up, his thighs touching up against the back of Sylar's. And he nuzzled Sylar's face while he had the chance. This, though, was probably exactly what Sylar needed – time to make his own decisions without Peter getting in his way. Peter tried to settle back and relax, hanging onto that thought instead.

Sylar reached back, shifting himself to try again, but Peter wasn't entirely hard. He gave Peter a quizzical look. Peter shrugged, because he simply wasn't going to stay erect under these circumstances. "Kiss me more – I'll come back."

"I have a better idea." Sylar wasn't as erect as before either. He moved up the rest of the way until he was spreading his knees so they nudged Peter's elbows, the head of his somewhat dangling cock bumping up against Peter's chin, Sylar using his thumb at the base of his cock to angle it down further. Peter dipped and maneuvered his head, opening his mouth to receive. The glans was still slick with precome, salty and delicious. Peter sucked at it, feeling his dick harden again as the taste ran through him. Given their position, he could only get the head in his mouth, but that was enough. It was where most of the nerves were anyway – a fact that Sylar's immediate, quiet groan made clear. Peter's lips sealed around the flared edge as his tongue swirled and lapped at the spongy tip.

"That's my boy," Sylar whispered, taking his previous pose of one hand on the metal pole and the other making a fist in Peter's hair. Sylar exhaled heavily and shuddered slightly at a particularly talented motion of lips and tongue on Peter's part. "All mine; no one else's. Special. My very own filthy, little cock-sucking Petrelli."

Peter looked up at him, locking eyes as he wondered how he was going to take that. He was chained down, performing fellatio on his brother's murderer, the guy's hand in his hair and balls on his neck. Sylar's words made it all very stark for him – no denial, no turning a blind eye, no pretending they were normal lovers who didn't have a past. They had a past and Sylar was claiming him, Peter, as his, and making humiliating comments about it at the same time. Peter blinked several times, teeth pressing into tender flesh easily hard enough to hurt. Sylar's breaths came faster, mouth opening and eyes visibly dilating. The hand in Peter's hair tightened and a flush crept over his features.

"Fuck ..." Sylar said in a very small, trembling voice. It sounded a lot like the beginning of a 'fuck me' or the end of an 'I'm fucked'. Or maybe, given the way Sylar's cock was fairly throbbing in Peter's mouth, it was a 'this is so hot I'm about to come.'

Peter let him go and spat him out. There was no way to resolve what had happened in the past with what was happening now except to accept it – baldly, right on the face of it. Things had changed; he had to accept them as they were. One thing he knew and accepted – Sylar did not think ill of him. He seemed to think that Peter's affection was the most incredible and desirable thing in the world, something Sylar was willing to risk his life to gain. The rough words were Sylar's way of coping with emotional overload, just as Peter had in his own ways. Licking his lips languorously, Peter made his peace with it and snarked, "Don't you forget it. If I belong to you, then it's your job to keep me safe." He faked a nip at the erect penis bobbing next to his cheek. "And fed."

Sylar stared for a moment, then laughed, his hand releasing Peter's hair and stroking it affectionately several times. He scooted back, bending to kiss Peter repeatedly and giving him elated pecks across his face. Peter returned them, the infectious joy leading him to breathe deeper and roll his hips, finding he could rub himself into the crease between Sylar's scrotum and thigh. Sylar sat up to give both Peter and himself another healthy application of lube. Peter shut his eyes and let his head tilt back over the edge of the mattress, feeling Sylar stroking and aiming him. He was fully hard again, no reservations, no distracting thoughts. Peter pushed into Sylar's hand, feeling himself guided into position until it was Sylar's butt cheeks brushing the head of his dick, warm testicles settling on his lower abdomen. Sylar found the spot faster this time, pressing back with a gradual, steady pressure.

Peter nudged in, still flexing his hips to prod against Sylar's opening, feeling resistance give way to tight, hot envelopment. He penetrated, 'taking' Sylar just as had been promised. Sylar was doing this all of his own accord, as willing as could be, as giving as possible.

With Peter fully inserted at last, Sylar's breath surged out in a huff with an "Ah!" and he came down with his hands on the mattress on either side, body still bowed to allow Peter to move within him. Peter didn't stop, but he raised his head, eyes opening to watch Sylar's expression. Through the man's hair, he could see amazement – mouth open and no words coming out. Peter knew what it felt like – that moment of realization that you had a part of someone else  _inside_  of your body, so much more intimate and vulnerable than you might have ever felt before. Opening to someone willingly in an act that could so easily be violation, but giving trust and having it vindicated instead. Not wanting to ask Sylar to move (not wanting to interrupt the profoundly personal moment he was having), Peter twisted his hands to grip the chains, pulling himself up – a little more off the mattress, but giving him a bit more leverage to thrust. It let him make long, easy strokes, curling his back and bending his legs until his groin cupped Sylar's ass, then away and down until he felt the head of his cock nearly, almost free itself before repeating the stroke.

Sylar groaned, a noise that sounded like it was pulled from the very bottom of his lungs. His hands tightened to fists and he raised his head, grinning savagely at Peter and licking his lips. He was starting to really enjoy it – that delicate, initial period of going slow was passing. With the next motion, Sylar pushed back with a grunt, his posterior slapping against Peter's thighs and belly with a rude noise that bounced around the odd room.

"Yeah!" Peter said, thrusting faster, sinking all the way into that hot, slick orifice, filling him up. He let his head sag again, but the next moment it was lifted. Sylar bent to wrap one hand behind Peter's head, cradling it and bringing him back for a kiss. Someone holding him; someone lifting him up; someone being there for him – it was something he'd wanted forever, sacrificed for it and been betrayed by Nathan, who'd never wanted to be that for him. Now he had someone who  _did_  want to be that for him. Peter scooted back down, getting his head on the mattress again. Giving Sylar one last, impassioned kiss, he directed, "Sit up. Let me watch you stroke yourself while I'm in you."

Sylar fondled his hair again before sitting up, eyes widening at how that changed the sensation. Peter grinned, going a bit easier at it as Sylar adjusted. He watched as Sylar took his well-sucked member into hand and started stroking it, thumbing over the tip as he watched Peter in turn. His other hand was cocked back, supporting himself on one of Peter's upraised knees. Peter matched the increasing pace of Sylar's hand with the pumping of his hips, watching and following his partner's lead. His hands were wrapped around the chains, keeping them from biting into his wrists and giving him some support for his thrusts.

It was quite a vision – Sylar splayed above him, eyes glazed, expression dazed, mouth loose, breathing hard, skin reddened with arousal, rapidly tugging at his cock, legs trembling as his breath eventually caught, long eyelashes fluttering as his mouth opened more. He looked surprised, maybe pained, brows drawing together as his mouth formed a soundless 'o'. Peter could feel the man's ass clench around his dick before the come surged out across Peter's stomach – hot, wet, reeking of sex. Peter only wished he could taste it again. That was when Sylar made noise again, another deep groan that sounded like it had been pulled from his gut. Sylar's eyes met his and the subtle shift in expression - from vulnerability to devotion, from hunger to satiation – did it perfectly for Peter. He'd made a difference; he'd helped; he'd changed; he'd saved. Sylar was his.

Heat and irresistible climax burned inside of him, driving his last hectic thrusts to be erratic, sinking inside of Sylar's pliant body until he released, a powerful shudder sweeping down him, making everything tighten. A flashing sensation of chill ran over him as he gave everything he had to Sylar.

Sylar bent down, giving Peter a long, complaisant kiss before struggling over his body to unlock the handcuffs. Free at last, Peter tangled his limbs with Sylar's in a mutual embrace, cooling down and enjoying the high.

Weary from their efforts, Sylar offered, "We could leave now. From … here. Out of Matt's nightmare." He nudged Peter's shoulder with his nose. "I'll save Emma for you. I'll do anything you want."

"Mm," Peter said, having felt the same distant awareness that waking up and leaving was now an option. "Hardly a nightmare. I saw the future, Sylar. You're going to save her. You know what that means?"

"That you knew this would happen all along?"

"Well … not  _this_  exactly, but what it means is that even if we stayed here a little bit longer," he brought his hand up to caress Sylar's cheek, "or maybe a lot longer, then you'll  _still_  save her." Sylar pulled his head back so he could focus better on Peter's face, listening. Peter smiled, running his thumb along Sylar's so-serious brow, wicking away a bit of sweat from their labors. "There's no hurry. There are a lot of other toys here I want to play with first."

Sylar gave a narrow-eyed, smug smile that had 'I knew it' pasted all over it. Peter laughed and pulled him into a tighter hug.

* * *

THE END


	19. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Sexual Tension Part XIX: Embers  
> Rating: NC-17 (sex)  
> Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray)/Peter Petrelli  
> Word count: 1,300  
> Setting: Sexual Tension verse, inside the Wall  
> Summary: A sexy continuation of the Sexual Tension verse. Sylar learns a few things.
> 
> A/N: This chapter was written by means2bhuman, originally posted here: http://means2bhuman.livejournal.com/44370.html . Reposted with permission.

  
  
Peter plunged into him. Sylar choked on his breath in a good way. This was the first time he’d let Peter top in a face-up position. He’d been far to concerned about everything else under the sun and face-down seemed to be the previous default – it didn’t overly bother him, but the knowledge (generalization?) that a sex partner didn’t want to see his face was difficult. Turns out that wasn’t the case. He should have figured that; honest Peter saying he liked kisses and touching; what better way to do that then facing each other? It seemed almost…obscene, facing Peter for sex, like this. It was such a rush, easily one of the best of his life. He could now see how people could feel themselves to be in love; it was so easy. It was impossible to think Peter didn’t like him or care for him or find him sexually appealing, not when it was like this.  
  
He clung to Peter with a desperate grip; Sylar felt like something would break if Peter pulled away now. For so long, many of his needs had fallen by the wayside. He wasn’t good enough, what he wanted wasn’t possible or it cost too much – mostly Sylar had learned that he asked for more than his due. Without words, Peter somehow figured out what he so badly needed…and then gave it to him. The nurse seemed to enjoy it even, take pride in it, like Sylar was a regular nobody whom Peter liked enough to pleasure. His eyes were misty, but Sylar didn’t care. Instead, he buried a hand in Peter’s hair, the other wrapped around the man’s back.  
  
Peter looked so taken with it. Christ, Sylar felt his insides melt and go squishy at the sight of Peter looking ravenous – at him! The Petrelli was firm and warm and moving between his legs. It was undeniably dirty and completely erotic. No part of them was unconnected – their feet were even touching. Sylar was drowning in contact, in soft human flesh covering hard muscle, especially the one currently reaming out his insides. Peter made that feel fantastic.  
  
The younger man had given him foreplay (what’s more, it was the foreplay he liked, the kind that worked); rutting them together, still clothed, kissing his chest, licking his tongue, thumbing his nipples and caressing his skin, teasing him to the point of frustration until finally he’d pushed in. It wasn’t overly gentle, no; instead it was solid, firm, confident. He’d been nervous and tight. A lot could go wrong facing someone, but blissfully, he didn’t have to worry about those scenarios. Peter began to inch back, watching his face with a shade too much lusty intensity. Sylar didn’t know where to look or what to do (that last was his existing worry); he ended up mostly lying there, wondering what, if anything, he could do to show his interest and continued availability.  
  
The next slick thrust was harder, deeper. It hurt deep in his chest as he tried to sort out his pesky, more humanoid, passionate emotions. A moment for his breath to return and he moaned, his face an unguarded mess right in Peter’s face. The nurse grimaced a short, sexual snarl before shoving himself inside with still more force – the penetrations few, slow and sensual in a forbidden, filthy kind of way. The whole experience was wrong – not the violating kind of wrong, but the naughty kind he wanted to do again repeatedly. Sylar whined, curling his legs around Peter tighter, feeling the walls of his rectum shift, being tugged and massaged internally with another man’s penis. His own organ ached between them and it was maddening sexual torture.  
  
Peter gave him the sweetest kiss on an out-thrust and Sylar’s chest heaved for air, that and it helped to further rub his front against the delicious specimen fucking him. Those abdominals had the dual purpose of looking good and sliding over his dick.  
  
Perforation, then Peter clutched his head, neck and jaw, darting in to first kiss then suck at Sylar’s throat. Sylar called out loudly, letting his head fall back, feeling the man’s breath hot and intermittent. When he drew air again, he moaned and began to writhe with Peter’s motions, pushing himself onto Peter who made a muffled, bestial sound of triumphant satisfaction as he nipped the throat below him. Sylar was lost, his dick throbbed as he struggled to press Peter against his needy, slippery erection or to slide his hand between them to jerk himself off. He wasn’t sure the anal stimulation would push him over and his organ was begging for attention anyway. His body was amped up, tingling, hot, he was ready, “Uuh!” Jesus! His muscles clenched and held Peter inside for a moment before the penis dragged from him – it was a beautiful sensation. He couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain.  
  
His ass opened for Peter, sucking on him as he drew back, again and again, slowly increasing the pace. Sylar was awash with sweat, just from the anticipation, the sensations. He held Peter’s head to him as he mouthed the available shoulder in front of him, trying to eat it. Sylar pawed over the medic’s back, side and buttocks. He began to move with Peter’s thrusts, opening to him, letting himself be taken, willingly. His own writhing and humping shifted his muscles anew, actively working them in rhythmic pulses.  
  
Peter was a fantastic lay. Sylar was the one getting this completely sexy nurse off. “Oh, yeah’s” and “Uh uh uh’s” amidst bestial grunting and moaning was poured almost directly into his ear – the man was pure audial sex and it was doing him in. Every breathy vocalization puffing against his throat was approval long denied that rang throughout his body. It felt like joy; it felt like bliss. If he didn’t know any better, it felt like they were making love. It was going to blow the top of his head off like a fucking volcano and he’d never be the same again. It was so smolderingly hot. Sylar was terrified; he didn’t know what to do on the other side.  
  
Tears sprung to his eyes and he whined, feeling flushed and swollen all over. He clutched his…his boyfriend to him, letting him thrust and carry them both away. Every cell in him cried out as his dick burned and his ass began to spasm, trapping Peter within. “OH! Oh! Oh! Ooh….oh!” He burst open, his orgasm intense, prolonged by Peter fulfilling his own needs, hammering into him still. Sylar distantly felt his face contort as the ecstasy joined with pain until Peter spilled, pounding him harder and grinding deep at the end. The empath’s noise of release was erotic, and Sylar was sure his face was, too, but Sylar had his eyes shut, still twitching, warm and aching with Peter’s dick inside him.  
  
When he came to his senses, napping or zoning out in a pleasured haze, he placed a hand against Peter’s side, stroking lightly just to feel him breath, still sweaty and feeling pleasantly used. Sylar sighed and remarked smugly, unashamed and unperturbed to give complimentary praise, not to his boyfriend. “Sex with empaths is definitely the best.”  
  
Peter chuckled and glanced at him, cutting himself off mid-preen when he caught onto the multiple clause. “Wait…empath _ **s**_?”  
  
Sylar smirked and rolled his eyes. “You’re way better than she could hope to be.” A little self-conscious now, Sylar scooted closer until they were side-to-side on their backs and buried his nose against Peter’s shoulder. “The best I’ve ever had,” he murmured.  
  
Whatever silly worries he had dissipated when Peter turned and softly kissed his hair. Was there ever any doubt Peter was the best?  


 


End file.
